


For Those Who Are Afraid

by Asaltysquid



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Denbrower, Gentle Kissing, Georgie is alive, Henrys Not Nasty, IT - Freeform, Kids against adults, M/M, Multi, Parental Abuse, Reddie, mlm, pennywise - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asaltysquid/pseuds/Asaltysquid
Summary: "As long as you're afraid I will fester..." the f in fester sent another downpour of saliva onto Henry who was still coughing out the remainder of the last drop. "..inside you, and like a parasite I will feed upon that fear until I make you become what you're afraid of most," It slowly lowered its head so its lips were as close to a quaking Henry's ear as possible, "and you will crumble."Henry Bowers was given a second chance at life, though he is as unaware of that fact as the one who gave it to him, but he feels..different, and he keeps having these horrible nightmares. A psychologist would call him traumatized. He would call himself stupid. Everything that once gave him a rush and a sense of meaning; his friends, the arcade, harassing his snivelling classmates, now just made him feel numb...that is..everything besides Bill Denbrough.(This is a Henry Bowers x Bill Denbrough fic though I promise it's not just going to be romance and there will be a lot of Loser's club content as well. I’m honestly writing a full fledged novel here)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers x Bill Denbrough, Henry Bowers/Bill Denbrough
Comments: 22
Kudos: 97





	1. Seafoam Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey and Welcome to the first chapter! I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> I made a cover for it which you can find here:  
https://www.instagram.com/p/B4NbxL4p05W/?igshid=12eej6figxngp

It's lips curled back into a cruel imposter of a smile, long twisted nails raking gently across Henry's skin, making goosebumps rise up in their path. The teenagers eyes were glued to his feet and his hands quaked, as much as he desperately tried to quiet them.. The nails finished their journey at his hair, toying with it, almost tenderly coaxing out knots. Humming, the creature was monotonous in its self assigned task, keeping Henry in place until every strand of hair moved individually from the other. Henry flinched every time his roots were tugged against his scalp. The minutes crawled over each other, feeling more and more like hours. His foot tapped and a cold bead of sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn't dare to move in that moment any more than when his father stood before him, belt in hand. Henry Bowers knew his place and what was required of him in these types of moments, when he was in the grasp of monsters that would just as soon break his bones than hear his voice. "Shut the fuck up and show your damn belly" as his father, Oscar Bowers would put it so poetically. These were learning moments that, if he played his cards right, would be taught with words rather than fists. Finally, Pennywise released him, seemingly content with his work, as Henry's dirty blonde hair returned to place. The clown leaned close and bloodied lips traced the shell of Henry's ear, sending icy shivers down his spine.

"Heeeenry," the voice mocked playfulness, as Henry recognized the tone of a spider trying to coax its fly into the web. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly... those words with a sing songy tune turned over in his head. Where did he hear that? It sounded poetic, so it must have been something he bothered to listen to in literature class. Henry wished for a second..that he could recollect the rest of it. The teenager sensed the slap just a few seconds too late as Pennywise's hand sent him spiralling and landing on his ass on the floor, having no choice but to stare up at the clown who held an expression undecided between annoyance and amusement.

That's what you get for thinking, Henry. He thought. Always gets you knocked on your fucking ass.

"Henry, Henry, Henry," the clown cackled, "You should know to listen when your elders speak." He lets himself fall to a crouch, bells that Henry never could seem to see jingling with his descent. Even hunched over, It towered over the seventeen year old, who tried to puff out his chest in an effort to combat how weak and trapped he felt. Henry wasn't afraid. Why should he be afraid of a clown... a clown that a stuttering little pansy had shot right in the head while a bunch of other losers made it cower and howl. A stuttering little pansy. A stuttering Bill- "H E N R Y." This time the clown did not hide the growl in its throat, snapping Henry out of his thoughts. Pennywise's mouth twisted back as long needle like teeth edged out of It's gums. It lunged forward making Henry yelp and fall back, many years of fists being thrown at him causing his arm to impulsively be thrown out in front of his face.

"I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!" He screamed making his throat ache.

The monster stopped, hunched over him, maw gaping wide enough to swallow Henry whole with a single gulp, and a gurgling chuckle came deep from within It's throat. "Perhaps, perhaps." The mouth began to sew itself back into its normal position, skin weaving into skin to mend the gaps. "But you are afraid. So terribly afraid. You're practically overflowing." It sat back grinning crookedly, it's mouth reformed. "Your fear is still so deliciously powerful even if it's not coming from me, little one."

Henry gritted his teeth. "Don't patronize me, fuck-face," lingered on his lips but what escaped was "What do you want. I've got better things to do than sit here talking to a nightmare."

It's eyes flashed a sharp yellow as it croaked. "We had a deeeeeal, Henry. A true deal between men, though I suppose I shouldn't expect a weak snivelling child to remember something like that."

Henry's teeth dug into his tongue. Don't let him get to you. Don't give him the satisfaction of knowing that stung. "Sorry, but I'm pretty sure death burns contracts. I don't have to do shit for a clown who got put in his grave by a bunch of fucking fairies."

The room seemed to darken and it was at that moment Henry became very aware of how small he was compared to the devil before him, who seemed to be gradually getting larger, filling up the room like an inflating balloon. It's spittle dripped from it's lip soaking Henry's entire face as the clown became almost too gigantic for the room around it.

"Heeeenry." It hissed in a low grating tone that boomed through the cavern and split Henry's ears. "As long as you're afraid, I will fester..." the f in fester sent another downpour of saliva onto Henry who was still coughing out the remainder of the last drop. "I will fester inside you, and like a parasite I will feed upon that fear until I make you become what you're afraid of most," It slowly lowered its head so its lips were as close to Henry's ear as possible, "and you will crumble." With that Pennywise's mouth ripped open and lights flashed in warped unnerving colours that absorbed Henry and made him feel as though his eyes were being burned into his skull. Bodies, bloodied carnage covered bodies, danced before him, their movements jagged and lurching as their heads swung from side to side on necks so twisted they resembled fishing hooks. It took everything Henry had to keep his stomach from exploding through his mouth. The most horrifying part about it all was that he recognized each body as it twisted and convulsed in ways only the mentally insane could call dancing. It seemed almost as though the entire town of Derry danced before him as he felt himself descending into the most basic animalistic impulses of his mind.

"Kill them all. Kill them all. Kill them all." The screams of the hundred corpses assaulted his ears.

No. No! He tried to cover his ears, to put his head between his knees, to do anything to drown out the orders. To escape his future. Suddenly a light sliced through the darkness, through the noise, through the bodies. Henry dared to look up as a brown haired boy with a flaming sword stood in front of him, his weapon outstretched in front of his chest as an unspoken challenge, making the deceased draw back into the inky darkness. The boy turned his head to him and smiled, sea foam eyes drawing Henry back to the world around him. He was safe as long as those eyes met his. Pink Cupid's bow lips parted as the boy spoke. 

"HUH-HUH-HUH-"

"HENRY!"

Henry Bowers jolted up in his seat, a thin line of drool still connecting him to his desk. Laughter erupted around him, making Henry's neck hairs stand on end as he settled into his surroundings. He was in Derry High, in Mrs. Lovett's algebra class, while all twenty of his classmates snickered at him. Eyebrows pinching together, Henry's eyes shot daggers at as many of them as he could before noticing the pair of legs standing next to him. They were nice legs. Damn nice legs. However he knew, as his eyes defeatedly drifted upwards that what was attached to them was not so nice. Mrs. Lovett stood over him, her arms so tightly crossed he was surprised one of her breasts hadn't popped. She stared down at him with a look of utter disdain that he was so used to, it would make him shift in his seat if her eyes regarded him any other way.

"Henry Bowers, unless you want to be held back another year I highly recommend you keep those eyes glued to the board. Am I clear?"

"As a whistle." He answered flatly.

She nodded though the purse in her lips told him she wouldn't hold her breath. The giggling utterly ceased the moment the teacher abandoned the desks to return to the board. There was no longer a buffer between the predator and the prey and they knew better than to risk Henrycatching any one of them laughing by themselves. That unfortunate kid would be eating through a straw for the next month. Bowers, after doing a quick scan of the class just to make absolutely sure there were no stragglers he could take his frustration out on, rolled his eyes and turned back to the board, trying for at least a moment to feign attentiveness. Lovett was the type of teacher who's words blur together after a few minutes, so that the children, some of whom were trying quite desperately to listen, heard babble that went in one ear and out the other. A special few could hear her clear as day and excelled under her guidance. Henry Bowers was not one of those few. It took only a few minutes of her rambling about something called the "distributive laws" for his interests to be anywhere else. Like that dream he kept having with the clown. That god awful clown. It was a dream that had been plaguing him for months now, along with a few others. He couldn't remember the last time he had a normal dream that wasn't seething with mutilated children, demonic clowns, annoying losers, and....other things. It made him anxious to dwell on the details of that dream too much. He wasn't one for psychoanalyzing himself and he wasn't going to start now. Just push it down Henry. Push it down deep with all your other troubles. 

Although time went by at a snail's pace, class eventually ended as it always does and the final bell sang for the release of Derry High's inmates. Henry was quick to his feet like all the other newly released and put on his leather jacket before swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. That leather jacket was his pride and joy, although it had been the cause of many altercations in and out of school, as the jacket was a pastel pink and bore an eagle on the back. One too many kids had snorted under their breath at that jacket, a couple even having enough balls to whisper "fairy" to their friends. However Henry Bowers had ears like a fox, and could promise that every single one of those kids had come home with some excuse as to why they had a bloody nose or a black eye. Or maybe they didn't and just outright ratted him out. It didn't matter to Henry. He had worked long and hard for that reputation, and if they wanted to advertise it who was he to complain. He strode out of class with the confidence of a lion, kids parting like nervous caribou to get out of his path, to remain out of reach of his claws. He wasn't in the mood for hunting today though. One of the boys in his gang of friends, Victor Criss, had found a stash of beer out by some fishing cabin and had excitedly offered to share it with the group down at their usual spot. He could use a beer. Something to drown himself in.

Henry soon breached the threshold of the school with rest of the herd, his eyes searching for said gang. However they fell upon a different group. A group made up of the schools misfits and unwanted. The losers. Or at least, a few of them. Some would say this gang and his own were arch nemesis set to clash until they all graduated and went their separate ways. Up until five months ago Henry would have agreed. Henry used to detest all of them. He'd tell you all sorts of explanations as to why he picked on them, why the sight of them made his eyes see red and his fist itch for a connection with a nose. But in all honesty he didn't know. They just existed and were, by the looks of it, happy. And that had pissed him off. What did they have to be so happy about? However, he didn't feel that way now. After the nightmares started, he felt constantly drained, too tired to care about the things that usually pissed him off. Hollowness was now what clawed at his chest when he saw the Losers. It was so void and lacking in any sensation at all it hurt worse than the anger did. That was one of two reasons why he left them alone now. He wouldn't admit to the other one. While he stared, grey greenish eyes that were somewhat obscured by brown hair looked up and met his. Recognition crackled between them. For a moment Henry indulged in the fantasy of waving, maybe even walking over and making friendly small talk. The beautiful fiction that he could just say one hello to Bill Denbrough without his entire world changing. That maybe he could, for a second, be a loser, and be happy... and the earth would keep on spinning as it always had.

"Hey Henry, come on!" Vic's shout shook Henry from the illusion as his friend waved at him from his car with the rest of their pals.

Henry sighed and broke the gaze, popping his collar up almost as a shield against those seafoam eyes as he walked towards the Bowers Gang and away from the Losers of Derry. Those eyes knew him too well, and he couldn't risk others seeing that. Henry had worked too long and too hard for his reputation in this town, for his power over these kids, and that power was something he clung too, as he knew it would be ripped from him as soon as he got home.


	2. Wayward Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I have never realized how stressful writing 7 characters interacting is. When Bill runs out just imagine the sigh of relief my brain gave. But yeah here's Chapter 2! I hope yall enjoy it! I'll probably be switching back and forth between Henry and Bill somewhat regularly.

Bill’s eyes stayed locked with Henry’s for what felt like an eternity. Part of Bill was willing him to come over, begging him, really, while the other was screaming, “Look away you stuttering idiot! Look away, mount your bike, and pedal as fast as your legs possibly can.” A sigh laced with both disappointment and relief slipped from his lips as Henry quickly averted his gaze and walked towards his friends. Bill wouldn’t need to do any explaining today. That was good, life didn’t need to change. No need to fix what wasn’t broken after all. He and Henry had both agreed that would be best. But even though the older boy was no longer facing him, Bill’s eyes were transfixed, watching every movement Henry made as he joined his group. He wondered passively as his own group began to walk what kind of trouble the Bower’s gang would be getting into, if Henry would be at school tomorrow with fresh bruises or perhaps a bloody nose. The thoughts made his chest ache. 

“This is Houston to Bill. I repeat Houston to Bill. Bill do you copy?” Richie’s voice snapped Bill out of his trance and back into the moment. He turned to face his friends, doing his best to not appear too disgruntled. Of course Richie had to butt in. God forbid he have a few moments to his own thoughts around motormouth-Tozier. 

“Huh? Di-di-did you say something Rich?”

“And the space shuttle has landed! Welcome back to earth cadet Bill.” The black haired boy grinned as he spoke in an attempt at a radio broadcaster voice through his hand. Richie was the type of kid who led authority figures to drink. The class clown whose antics usually didn’t amuse anyone but himself. “We thought we’d lost you there for a moment! Good to see you back!” 

“Richieee, enooough!” Eddie groaned, sifting through his fanny pack that was practically overflowing with various medications. “Has anyone ever told you all of your voices sound exactly the same? It’s grating, obnoxious, and annoying.”

Richie gasped in mock hurt before leaning in uncomfortably close to the short brown haired boy, his eyes darting up and down his form, as Eddie’s eye twitched. This went on for another minute before the tense silence broke Eddie,

“What Tozier! What is it?”

Eyes narrowed behind thick framed glasses, Richie responded thoughtfully, his pointer finger curled around his chin “I think your mother may need to take you to the doctors.”

“What? Why? Is my nose bleeding again? Am I breaking out? Fuck I knew I shouldn’t have risked that cafeteria jello today. Mom is always warning me about all of the dye they put in that junk and-WHY ARE YOU STILL STARING AT ME, WHAT IS IT?”

Taking his time to respond, Richie nodded slowly. “No you definitely are going to need to see the doctor. I don’t know how else they’re going to remove that stick.”

“What stick?”

Richie’s smile unfurled slowly. It was a smile that a cat, who after minutes of playing with its food was finally ready to go in for the kill, might make. Everyone in Richie’s life knew the smile well and dreaded being the recipient of it

“The one up your ass.”

Stanley, a tall lanky boy with curly sandy hair, snorted. He didn’t want to encourage Richie but was amused nonetheless. Eddie Kasbrak resembled what Bill always imagined a volcano might look like before a catastrophic explosion; pent up and multiple shades of red.

“OH that is so not fucking funny Tozier! You know how many medical issues I have! Do you find the fact that I’m probably not going to live past my twenties something to joke about? Oh haha lets laugh at the sick kid with the obese mom. H i l a r i o u s. You’re a real fucking comedian.” 

“Careful Eds. You get yourself too over excited and you’re basically slicing years off your life. After that blow up, I think we’re looking more at eighteen, nineteen, rather than twenties.” 

“Oh yeah well you’ll-“

“Okay guys enough! Quit being an asshole Richie.” Stanley stepped inbetween the two and Bill sighed gratefully. The argument had gotten grating and Bill was anxious to escape back to his thoughts. 

“Y-yeah duh-duh-don’t be an a-hole Richie.”

The sun flickered and danced through the trees as the group of four made their way through the forest of Derry. The trees stood tall and grim like silent soldiers who were weathered and worn from many years of battling Maine’s harsh winds. Many children in Derry ran to the forest. It was a barrier between them and the judgement of their peers and adults. A place to escape to and just, for even a short amount of time, be themselves. After all, who would bother a group of friends surrounded by dense shrubbery, poison ivy, and nettle bushes. The four boys weaved in-between the wooden soldiers, stuck in their familiar roles and routine. Eddie and Richie were bickering, Stan was mediating, and Bill was lost in his own head. Bill retreated to the woods more often than most nowadays. Most of the time he’d paint, or do schoolwork, or just read. He had to get away from his parents nagging and his little brother’s pestering somehow. Not that he wasn’t grateful for all of that… especially Georgie. Every time the kid followed at his heels or whined about Bill helping him with something Bill’s heart swelled. Sure, Georgie could be annoying, but Bill would never take his presence for granted again. Even though he was still getting accustomed to it. A strong gust whipped at Bill’s face, causing an irritated red to rise in his cheeks and his eyes to water as his brown hair was blown back in a wild frenzy. 

“Man,” Stanley wrapped his jacket tighter around himself “the wind sure does have a bite today.”

“Okay Stan, see this is what I mean! What sixteen year old talks like that!” Whirling, Richie turned to face his target as his voice rose to accommodate an attempt at an old man, though to anyone besides him it sounded more like he had the start of a cold. “Sonny you don’t even know the meaning of a bite. My dick’s so cold I’m basically a transvestite now. You can complain about the cold when your skins like leather, your ass is all bone, and any gas makes you shit yourself.”

The curly haired blonde’s eyes rolled dramatically as Stan gave Richie the most internally exhausted look possible. It was a look Richie’s parents often gave him and was far beyond Stans years, but he had somehow mastered it. 

“It’s called pleasant conversation, Richard. Something I’m not sure you’re capable of.”

Richie shifted on his feet. He always hated being called Richard. It gave him déjà vu to when his parents were about to ruin his weekend because they had found out about a test grade or a prank. However, Richie Tozier was never one have the last word snatched from him, so he bounced back with the radio broadcaster again. 

“Sure I know how to be pleasant baby~ you’re mom thought I was awfully pleasant when I came to visit her last night while your papa was away. Lovely woman your mother, said she never go back to circumcised again!”

Stan just glared at him, though the conversation peaked Bill’s interest enough to be coaxed back into the present. 

“Buh-but aren’t you circumcised r-r-r-Richie?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know Denbrough!” 

“Guys stop encouraging him. He’s never going to shut up!” was Eddie’s addition to the conversation.

The four proceeded to argue over whether Richie was circumcised, which lead to debating whether circumcision really made things look larger or not and if it was actually as healthy as doctors claim. Eddie and Stanley were firmly on the side of it being cleaner while Bill and Richie held that the lack of skin would leave everything more exposed to germs. This debate carried all the way to the middle of a small empty patch of forest. To most it would appear like any other small clearing, overgrown and not very interesting. But to the boys and every other Loser this alcove was special and provided a haven, as it held a secret known only to them. Eddie huffed and leaned back on his heels, face pinching up as he stared at the ground.

“I’m not opening the door.”

Rolling his eyes, Bill walked to the middle of the clearing and bent down, running his hands through the loose damp leaves and soil until his hand found a small rusted handle, hidden purposefully to the world. With a strenuous grunt Billy hoisted the wooden door open and smiled at the others as he climbed down into the bunker, the wind no longer able to reach him as his head disappeared below the ground. When Bill’s feet touched the floor he turned to see the lights already on and the rest of the Loser’s club looking up from their various activities to smile at him as Eddie, Richie, and Stan joined them below.

“Hey guys! We were wondering if you were coming or if y'all ditched us.” Mike grinned from the floor where he was reading a Mad magazine. It had been a “chuckulicious” issue in Richie’s words and he had insisted every single Loser take a turn reading it. 

Groaning, Stanley hung up his coat and flopped beside Mike, propping himself up on his elbows as Ben passed each of the newcomers a shower cap to keep the spiders out of their hair. “We would have gotten here sooner if Richie hadn’t insisted on mouthing off to Mr. Farrow last period.”

“What’s the verdict Rich?” Beverly called from the hammock nearby. All eyes turned to her when she spoke. She swung gently, suspended by the fabric, with her knees pulled up to her chest and parts of her red curls that peeked out from underneath her cap appeared to be ignited by little rays of sun that cut through holes in the roof. Every boy in the bunker regardless of attraction got a slight pink glow in their cheeks, though Ben’s burned the brightest. Her lips upturned into a playful grin as she removed the cigarette that rested between them. “Well?”

Richie, put just as much into a stupor by her as the others, shook himself free of the spell and shrugged. “Eh I just have to stay late in detention tomorrow. Nothing horrible.” Never one to dwell on his problems, he shook it off there and joined her in the hammock, mooching a smoke off her. 

Everyone settled in to their various spots and the afternoon went by peacefully. Mostly they worked on homework, read, or chatted amongst themselves quietly but all in all no one spoke too much. These were rare moments in the Losers Club, but not unappreciated. Most of the time someone had some news to share that had the entire group rattling on for hours. But not today. Today was an afternoon for just peaceful unspoken companionship in their little hideaway from the world. 

Bill had tucked himself away in a corner on an old beanbag. Close enough to everyone to feel included but far enough to have a semblance of solitude. He tapped his pencil against his math book as his head nodded to the crackling sound of Tom Petty on his Walkman. A Christmas ago, Ben had made everyone personalized mix-tapes which he had proudly handed out Christmas Eve. Since then they had all lent each other their tapes to see what the other had gotten and it hadn’t gone unnoticed in the group that Bev’s was three times as long as everyone else’s, but no one thought it important enough to say anything. Bill’s personal mix was a collection of rock music, a genre Ben knew he adored and had done his best to put together a decent variety. It was quite good. But right now the music wasn’t doing anything to help Bill’s already struggling focus. Thirty minutes had gone by and only three math questions had answers, and Bill was sure at least one was incorrect. He gnawed the pencil’s eraser absentmindedly as his vision grew distant, elsewhere. 

_“This isn’t going to change anything Billy Boy. You’re just postponing the inevitable.” _

“Bill?” 

_“You may have kept them from me now, but they’ll float one day Billy. You’ll all float.”_

“Billy?”

_“You and Bowers belong to me Bill. The whole town belongs to me.”_

“BILL!” 

Bill snapped to attention just in time to dodge a piece of crumpled paper Richie Tozier had hurled at his head.

“Wh-wuh-wuh-What the f-fuck was that for Richie?”

“Bevs been trying to get your attention for the past HOUR!” Richie had a way of over-exaggerating things. “Don’t think too deeply into it Bev, he’s been a spaced out spaz all day.”

Stanley glanced up from where he was reading the MAD magazine with Mike. They were now onto a different issue and had passed Richie’s to Ben. “I think you mean Bill’s been a spaced out spaz all month.”

Rolling his eyes, Bill stood up and dragged his seat closer to the group before they started to heckle him further. He hadn’t been that distant. Just distracted. There was a lot going on he knew none of them could begin to understand. 

“What’s been on your mind Bill?” Beverly shifted in the hammock so that she was facing him and away from Richie, whose eyes momentarily darted to her butt but upon receiving a cutting glare from Ben had returned to his video game. 

“Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh..” God why was that one word so hard to get out. Bill’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a deep breath and focused. Beverly waited patiently as he got his thoughts in order, which was something he greatly appreciated about her. She never tried to spit out his words for him. “Nothing.” He finally said, taking a large breath like saying it had drained all his energy. “Just thu-thinking about a lot.” 

She nodded, and Bill was struck with how pretty her emerald eyes were and just how much they made her freckles pop. When he and Beverly had first become friends, he was self conscious to say he had fallen head over heels for her. He had thought she was the most beautiful girl on earth, and he still did… however, after what was only a few months for his friends, Bill had lived a lifetime... and he knew how that love would turn out. She had someone much better than Bill Denbrough in store for her eventually, and he refused to get in the way of that. So he had allowed his burning love to simmer down to a great appreciation for Beverly Marsh. 

“Well you know if you need anything at all you just have to say so, right Bill?”

“Don’t you mean s-s-say so Beverly?” Piped up Richie, who promptly received a kick to the shoulder. “Hey!”

“Beat his bug eyed ass Beverly!” Eddie grinned from his spot in the room, a little lawn chair with a reading lamp beside it.

“Oh I’ll show you a bug eyed ass señor!” Leaping from the hammock swiftly like a nimble monkey, Richie sprinted at Eddie and tackled him to the ground. The two shrieked and bickered, rolling over each other, a ball of limbs and mock anger. Ben watched them for a couple minutes, chuckling, before he closed the magazine he was holding and turned to the non-fighting part of their group. 

“So the Spring Fling is coming up! Do you guys think you’ll go?” He said this to all of them but Bill noted his eyes were solely on Beverly. 

“I’LL GO!” Richie shouted as Eddie pinned him to the ground.

“Too bad they don’t let lesbians in!” Kaspbrak grinned from above which sparked another round of tussling between the two.

“I’d like to go.” Beverly sighed, leaning back and staring at the ceiling, her eyes following the wood’s cracks and bends. “But I’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t let me. Especially not with a group of boys.”

“Well it’s not like we’d have dates to go with anyways.” Mike batted Stanley’s hair out of his face. “No girls are exactly rushing to date the Loser’s club.” 

Bill nodded thoughtfully. 

“Well we could all guh-go as f-f-f-friends.” 

“That’s what I was thinking.” Ben’s eyes were still glued to Beverly. 

“Yeah I guess.” The black boy shrugged. “Just seems like especially now that were all sixteen the ‘let’s go as friends’ thing is getting kind of old.”

“And sad.” Stanley added.

“That too.”

“W-Wuh-Well I don’t care either way. I’ll g-guh-guh-go if you guys g-go.” His eyes were wandering, as Bill began to lose interest in the conversation. That was happening a lot lately. There was just too much to think about besides high school events that wouldn’t matter in five years anyways. Sometimes Bill wondered how any of them could care about high school dances after what they've been through. He certainly couldn’t… not after knowing what they would be put through in the future. Bill sat forward and his eyes fell on the clock Ben had hung on the back wall. A quarter past six. A quarter past six! Springing to his feet Bill started frantically shoving his things into his bag and packed up as quickly as he could.

“Woah Bill everything okay?”

“Y-ye-ye-yeah s-s-sorry! I j-ju-just remembered I have somewhere i need to buh-buh-be.” He hoped he wouldn’t be too late. With a quick goodbye to everyone, Bill climbed up the ladder and was out of the clubhouse.

“Told you he was acting like a spaz.” Richie remarked dryly, before returning to licking a screaming Eddie’s face.

As soon as Bill closed the door behind him, he took off at a strong sprint, soaring over leaves and sticks. The wind was still strong, grabbing at his hair and clothes as it ripped past, making his teeth chatter. The sky was turning soft shades of orange and reds that sent dark shadows across the floor of the forest in contrast. It wouldn’t be fully night out for another hour and a half but that didn’t matter to Bill. He wasn’t trying to outrace the light, but rather the time. He desperately wished he’d played closer attention to the clock. 

After a solid ten minutes of sprinting, Bill slowed to a stop and doubled over, his hands on his knees as he wheezed. Crickets were beginning to chirp and somewhere deep within the trees he could hear the soft hoot of an owl. He’d take just sixty seconds to catch his breath and then keep on running. He could still make it if he pushed himself. Suddenly, long, strong fingers looped around his throat as Bill gasped for air and yanked him backwards. Another face pressed against his as Henry Bower’s voice whispered into Bill’s ear.

“Heya Bill.”


	3. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this took so long, I went a bit crazy and ended up writing a lot more than I intended to! Regardless I hope you enjoy it, these boys are all very fun to write for. Also y'all get a bit of a sneak peek at one of the antagonists ;)

_ “Kill them all. Kill them all. Kill them all.” _

“Hey Henry, you good man?”

Henry jumped, the beer that hung limply in his hand spilling onto his jeans. Hissing, he glared down at the now-forming dark spot as the fabric quickly absorbed the liquid.  _ Great _ . It was right on his crotch too. Three pairs of eyes stared at him from around a crackling fire pit, two filled with soft worry the other passing amusement. Each boy had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Henry glanced down at his smoke. It resembled a small smoldering grey worm that was squirming free of a white cocoon, trying desperately to escape and fall to the ground. Henry brought it to his lips and sucked in, dissolving more of the white encasing and causing the worm to crawl farther, it's body alive with red and orange embers that breathed with him.

“Henry! Did we lose you again?” a short sun-kissed blonde seated to his right playfully nudged him. Henry sighed, forcing a smile before meeting Vic's eyes.  _ Just keep shoving it down. _

“No, I'm here. You assholes just aren't saying anything interesting.”

“I think he's already drunk. That's only like your second beer, right Henry?” Patrick Hockstetter, a lanky boy who stood a good foot above Henry sneered, causing Henry's neck hairs to stand on end. His face was shaped like a crescent moon and it always upheld the same plastered on smile that made Henry's knuckles itch to connect with it. “Are we going to have to carry you home, baby?” Patrick knew just how to crawl under his skin and pick at his nerves. It was like he had his fingers buried in Henry's brain at all times and was just constantly scratching at it with jagged nails. Rather than give him any sort of verbal affirmation Henry answered Patrick with a withering glare, making that ever-present smile stretch farther across his pale bony face.

“So are we just going to hang around here doing jack shit or are we going to go have some fucking fun, guys?” Vic took a large swig, emptying his beer before throwing the can onto the ground. “I don't know about you idiots, but I feel buzzed and ready to get up to some dumb shit.”

“Don’t we do dumb shit every day?” The last boy of the group, Reginald... or Belch, as he was more commonly called, retorted. “We’re all kind of tipsy and I don’t want to risk wrecking my car.”

Victor scoffed and flopped back in the grass. “You’re such a buzzkill Belch! We’ve never wrecked your car before!”

“Yeah but we’ve come close! And I don’t have the money to fix her if we do.”

Rolling his eyes, Henry stared into the fire pit, watching the dancing flames shake and crackle to a silent beat. Writhing, contorting, and doing the peppermint twist. The sound of his friend's debating echoed in the back of his head. It felt as though he was hearing them through miles and miles of water and was sinking further still. The conversation didn't interest him anyways. What did it matter what they did? In the end, Henry would be right there next to them taking part in the destruction and that was all that concerned them. As long as he was there to be a dominant presence, something to make them feel controlled and safe in their own unraveling chaos it didn't matter how numb Henry felt. No, numb wasn't the right word. He shifted forward, the orange light dancing in his eyes. Rotting. That was more accurate. It felt like at the very center of Henry Bowers he was decaying, being eaten away and turned into a hollow void lined with mold and disease. Every morning he was aware that it was bigger, whittled away at by a seemingly never-ending night of nightmares- if he slept at all.

“We could go swimming!” Belch piped up, knowing the request would probably fall upon deaf ears, but hopeful nevertheless.

“All you babies want to do is swim. Let’s go fucking tagging or light some shit on fire! Something not boring.” The tall moon-faced boy looked like he was practically pissing himself, twitching and shifting in his seat, his already grating voice getting whinier by the second, digging into Henry’s ears, chipping at that hole in his chest. “Come ooooon guys I want to cause some fucking chaos!”

“Jesus Christ, calm down Pat... and shake out your pants while you’re at it I think ants are biting your dick.”

“Bite me.” Patrick‘s lips curled up around his uncomfortably white teeth in a mocking sneer as he shot the middle finger Victor's way, though he did stop writhing, save for the subtle bounce in his left knee. 

Returning the hand gesture, the blonde shifted where he lay to face Henry, golden strands cascading around his face as brown eyes searched his leaders and for a moment Henry was drawn out from his thoughts by the sight. “What do you think we should do, Hank?”

For reasons lost to him, Henry had always found Victor beautiful, not in a sexual or romantic regard but in the way an art connoisseur might examine the statue of David- except Henry was the farthest thing from an appreciator of the arts, and Vic could only long for such a muscular and perfect physique. Though he would hope to be better endowed than the marble likeness of the Shepard. There was just something ethereal and oddly mysterious about the friend Henry had known since childhood and their eyes meeting caused heat to rise under his cheeks, a sensation only brought about by one other boy but again not romantically or sexually. It was just a deep, deep, DEEP appreciation. At least that’s the explanation that helped him sleep at night. Almost losing consciousness within Victor's eyes, Henry just barely managed to pass off his delayed answer as thoughtfulness. 

“Tagging sounds fun.” It sounded exactly the opposite, and Henry couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less at the moment, but who was he to disappoint the gang... who was he to be the paper man? 

A smile spread across that beautiful face and Victor jumped to his feet. That smile was almost enough to make it worth it. Almost. “Alright fuckers you heard Hank the Tank, tagging it is!”

With a defeated groan Belch rose to his feet while Patrick sprinted to the car, even though Belch had the keys, Patrick was determined to get there first. 

“Spastic fucker.” Henry said to no one in particular, though Vic nodded in agreement. 

“Pat the rat operates in his own fucking world man, you should know that by now.” 

“Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean I think he’s any less of a freak.” 

Snorting, Victor punched his arm playfully. Most people couldn’t touch Henry and walk away unscathed, but Vic was the exception. Maybe it was the fact that he was skinny enough to disappear if he turned sideways that made him as threatening to Henry as a stick. Or maybe it was the fact that no one touched Henry unless it was to bash his head against the wall- so affection, even that in the form of friendly violence, was welcomed. 

“Listen, just be grateful he isn’t trying to get us to collect neighborhood cats for his jack-off fridge again.”

The thought made Henry wince. “Don’t even fucking joke about that, I try to forget about that as much as possible.”

“HEY ASS-TICKS COME ON!” Hockstetter’s voice cut through the air with about the same pleasantness as a police siren. The lanky boy was all but falling out of the passenger window and Henry could see Belch reprimanding him about something from the driver's seat.

“Yeah, yeah we're coming don’t get your dick in a twist!” Henry called back, shooting a quick grin back at Victor. “Guess we better head over before her Majesty pisses herself.”

“Or gets bored and destroys something in Reggie’s car.” 

The two ambled over together, taking their sweet time just to further enrage Patrick who was practically vibrating in his seat. He had been saving some spray paint he found (stole) for weeks for an occasion like this, and he was far beyond excited to get started. By the time they reached the car, Belch’s face had a similar appearance to a parent of eight who was just about ready to kill one of his children. Victor gave him an apologetic rub on the shoulder as he slid into the backseat. Henry was close behind when his eyes flitted to the clock and he froze... 

_ 5:47 _

Fuck, had it really already been that long? With a sigh, Henry pulled himself back out of the car earning a plethora of questioning looks from his friends.

“Sorry guys. I just remembered I have somewhere I need to be.”

This statement was received about as well as he thought it would. An array of protests rose from the car, along with a “Booooooooooo” that came from Patrick. 

“Can’t you come with us for a bit?” Victor hung his arms out the window, those brown eyes trying to recapture Henry within them. Tempting him.

Doing his best to seem nonchalant and refusing to be drawn in, Henry rocked back on his heels, sliding his thumbs into the pockets of his tattered jeans. “I really can’t miss this, but I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow, okay?”

“You need a ride somewhere Henry?” 

“Nah I can just walk.” He would rather eat maggots than let his friends know where he was going, but he patted Belch’s arm in silent thanks nevertheless. “See you assholes later.” Whirling on his heel as to not give them the chance to argue more, Henry headed towards the woods at a leisurely pace, not too concerned with reaching his destination on time. 

Never a man of many words, Belch just nodded at Henry and began driving, his focus shifting to the road as he prayed he hadn’t had enough alcohol to inhibit his abilities. However Patrick, who was uncharacteristically quiet, followed Henry with his eyes, watching him as he was swallowed by the foliage.  _ Something wasn’t right _ . Henry had been acting off for months now and even if Patrick never mentioned it, he sure as hell noticed. Things didn’t just change in this world of his without his knowledge. Tapping his fingers against the door of the Trans Am in monotonous rhythm, Patrick searched every mental file he had on Henry Bowers, trying to find any clue as to what good old Henry could possibly be up to. What could someone like Henry possibly have to hide? Well, regardless, he would find out... After all, Patrick didn’t believe in secrets between friends, unless he was the one keeping them.

++++++

Henry trekked through the woods like a hunter, feet almost completely silent from years of training.  _ “If you walk like you own the place the deer will hear you from a mile away.” _ His late uncle used to say when he took Henry and his cousin Connor out on hunting trips.  _ “Move like the forest is tracking you and you’ll be bringing home dinner in no time.” _ Henry had only been about six when his uncle told him that, but the words stuck. Though it wasn’t that hard to feel like the forest was out to get you in Derry. To Henry at least, it always seemed unnaturally quiet. There were always too few birds, and when he was alone it felt like every tree was straining its neck to loom over him further. So he went along his way quietly, like prey. Unfortunately, the quiet let out the leash that kept him from his least favourite activity… thinking. Or in this case, remembering.

Screams echoed distantly in his ears as images of torn bloodied faces, his father's neck gushing blood, and his friends' lifeless corpses all danced behind his eyes. One sequence that left his back aching at the “memory” was the feeling of bouncing down the walls of a well, screaming, plummeting into darkness as the black boy, that fucker, Mike, stared down at him from the ever-shrinking well mouth. As he shook himself back to the cold air of the forest, his eyebrows knit together and he gripped his upper arms, chiding himself for not taking a few beers with him. Maybe alcohol could drown out the nightmares. Drown the clown. _ You’ll float too, Henry _ . No, that wasn’t right. Clenching his jaw, Henry pulled his arms tighter around himself, rubbing his biceps at a sudden icy wind, though none of the leaves even shivered. It was everyone else that floated. It was his job to make them float. In this twisted mental world of his, he was special, chosen, handpicked for that task. _ Loved. _

“I’m so sick of fuckin’ clowns.” he swung his foot down hard against the ground, scattering a group of leaves around him as he spoke for only the trees to hear. What he would give for just an hour or two of restful sleep, to just be able to shut his eyes and see the back of his eyelids again. Didn’t matter where. Hell, Henry would be perfectly content to crumble right where he stood if that’s what it would take. The leaves he had previously attacked, which had been picked up by a soft wind, writhed and bubbled as they twisted in the air, turning into strips of rotting flesh that disintegrated before Henry’s eyes. Or maybe they had just floated back to the ground.  _ You’re losing your mind, Henry. You better get yourself in check or your old man’s going to ship you to the loony bin faster than you can blink...if he doesn’t kill you first.  _

Leaves and twigs snapped under heavy footsteps, bringing Henry back into the present just in time to see Bill Denbrough sprinting through the underbrush. Henry watched in awe as Bill leaped and flawlessly cleared a bush, his brunette hair whipping away from his face. There was something entrancing in those few seconds, as Bill soared, his eyes never once leaving the horizon. So focused. As soon as Bill’s feet made contact with the ground he continued to run, his gait never wavering. Hell, he didn’t even stumble when he landed... Though this did only continue for a few more seconds before he gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling as Henry watched him practically fall over his knees and gasp for air.  _ Guess even Bill Denbrough is human. _ A smirk played on his lips as Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and strode towards the recovering teen, feet never making a sound even though Henry wasn’t trying to hide his presence. Gradually, the distance between the two closed and Henry even made sure to fall upon a few sticks in his path, just to give Bill a fighting chance, but the small  _ snaps _ gained no response. When he’d come right up behind Bill and the boy still hadn’t noticed him, Henry already decided on the course of action he was going to take. It was Bill’s own fault for not being more aware of his surroundings- call it a lesson from a concerned peer. Henry curled his fingers around Bill’s neck and squeezed, not enough to cut off air but just enough so it wouldn’t be comfortable and yanked back so he could press his lips to the shell of Bill’s ear.

“Heya Bill.”

The Denbrough boys' retaliation was fast and direct. Bill’s elbow shot out like a viper and bit down right into Henry’s gut, making him yelp and release his captive, who whirled around and batted at him.

“Yuh-you a-hole!” At putting a face to the hands that had attacked him Bill’s adrenaline was already beginning to wane as he lashed another arm out and smacked Henry’s right shoulder. “You nearly muh-made me puh-puh-piss myself!”

Aside from a few lucky shots, Henry dodged the onslaught of blows with ease, weaving around Bill’s flailing arms until he was practically pressed against the other and grinning down at him. 

“Not my fault you had your head in the clouds B-B-Billy. Dreamin’ about me?”

Henry’s grin was reciprocated as Bill tried one last time to hit him and Henry let him. It was a soft half-hearted smack to his bicep that wouldn’t even make a toddler blink. Not worth the effort to block.

“Puh-puh-pretty sure you’re more of nuh-nightmare than a dream.”

“Aw come on tutoring me ain't that bad is it Denbrough? Am I really that much of a dumbass?” he rapped Bill’s shoulder affectionately as he grabbed the other boy’s backpack and tossed it over his shoulder. 

“No, but you’re at least half that much of a duh-duh-dumbass.” he rolled his eyes and fell in line with Henry as the two continued their journey through the woods. Bill, despite being ten pounds lighter without his backpack, stepped slowly and relaxed. Now that they were together there was no reason to rush... it was Henry he had been racing to meet anyways, and he didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry. 

Neither boy would be able to tell you the exact moment they had become friends. It had just happened at some point over the time they had been spending together. Bill had been the first to realize it when on the walk home from school one day, Henry had offered him a stick of gum. To most people, such a simple act would mean absolutely nothing at all but then again Henry wasn’t most people. The Bowers boy never just offered anything to Bill that didn’t result in Bill going home with a bloody nose. On top of that, Henry was from a home life where what little money was made went quickly. Even something as lowly priced as gum was a commodity that Henry could enjoy rarely. It had been a simple relaxed act that one would only do with someone they were truly familiar and comfortable with. Bill had taken the gum, although he wasn’t particularly fond of Juicy Fruit’s banana flavor, and popped it in his mouth. Nothing more was said on the matter, however it had solidified that Henry Bowers held some level of fondness for him. Henry, on the other hand, had realized they were friends in a much less direct way. The Bower’s Gang had been cruising together in Belch’s Trans Am, the Beastie Boys “Fight For Your Right,” making the whole car pulsate as it blasted from the speakers. The conversation had shifted drastically from an intense debate about if someone truly had to close their eyes when they sneezed, to the Losers. Henry couldn’t remember the transitional bridge that had connected the two. They had thrown their usual insults and crass remarks around but then Patrick had mentioned Bill.  _ “Do you think the stutter gets worse or better when the snot fucks? God, imagine having to hear, I’m g-g-gunna c-c-cum, while you’re getting railed. That is if he can get laid at all.” _ and Henry had felt...mad? It was the same red heat that sent him swinging in the hallways when someone made a snarky remark about a member of his gang, or if Patrick had mentioned his little cousin instead. It was enough that he almost rose to Bill’s defense. Almost. However, both boys knew exactly what had begun this unconventional relationship… and that wasn’t any of their friends’ business.

“So, you guh-guh-gotta date to the sp-sp-sp-sp.” the sound rolled over and over on Bill’s lips as they twitched repetitively. Even in his own mind the words were broken and sounded stupid. Henry waited. “Sp-sp-Spring fling?” 

“Why? You askin' me out, queer?”

Bill’s face turned a deep shade of red as Henry received yet another punch to the shoulder. 

“You kn-kn-know that’s not whuh-what I mean.” 

“If I go to the spring fling it’ll be to fuck up the principal’s car or something. I don’t do dances.” He paused, planning his next words carefully. “You got a nice pair of tits on your arm for the dance Denbrough?”

“No.” Silence for a few seconds as Bill mulled over thoughts of his own. “Me and the other Losers are guh-guh-going as friends.”

“Queers.” 

Another punch. That shoulder was going to be sore. 

When they arrived at Bill’s house the sun was just starting to fall off the edge of the world, casting the hues of sunset on the earth before it. 

“I’ll unlock the wuh-window for you Henry. Juh-juh-just give me five.”

Henry grunted in response as he swung Bill’s backpack off and extended it towards him. When their eyes met Henry’s lungs seemed to freeze mid pump and a little wheeze escaped his mouth. Rays of gold and red, the last breaths of a dying sun, enveloped Bill. It almost appeared as though he was wrapped in flames, the orange light reflecting in his eyes. The burning boy. It was beautiful in the same way Victor Criss was beautiful when he had rolled over to face Henry while laying in the grass. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, sun’s just in my eyes.”

Finding no reason to question that answer, Bill grabbed his backpack and headed inside the mansion he called home. Well, it wasn’t exactly a mansion, but anything with more than two bedrooms, a lack of mold, and zero beer bottles strewn around looked like the President’s suite to Henry. It was a gorgeous light green two-story house that stood on a base of brick and stone, with a large porch that jutted out from the front like a square nose. Large glass eyes rested above the nose, framed by quaint white wooden paneling, and it was from the right eye, that Bill peeled open the glass and gestured frantically for Henry to come in, eyes darting back and forth like he was expecting someone to yell at him at any second. 

Acting from muscle memory, Henry shimmied up the drainpipe that descended from the right cheek, his feet finding all the familiar indents within the brick and mortar and in under a minute was standing in Bill’s room, taking off his jacket and draping it over Bill’s desk chair as Bill unburdened himself of his own outerwear. Bill’s bedroom was about the size of the Bower’s living room, with tan-striped wallpaper and stainless wooden floors. It was too pristine for someone of Bill’s age. Even the tops of his dressers and bedside tables were dustless and organized. If Henry hadn’t been staring at the pale gangly fifteen year old in front of him he would’ve thought he was in an adult's room. 

“Give me a second to change and we’ll get stuh-stuh-started.”

Grunting in response, Henry flopped onto the bed, sending two pillows airborne for a few seconds as he snuggled into plush cotton heaven. Without fail, Bill’s bed was always the first place he went. It was comfy, soft, and pretty much everything his bed wasn’t- right down to being a bed. His “matress.” was a collection of pukish green couch cushions from a pair of loveseats his father had trashed. That in itself might not seem so bad without the knowledge that the cushions didn’t use to be green, but had been turned into mold-infested ecosystems contained in dirty sheets from years of being on a cold, damp floor. 

“Tuh-take your shoes off a-hole.”

“M-m-make me.” Just for good measure, Henry crossed his legs and tilted his feet upwards so Bill could get a good look at just how filthy the bottom of his boots were, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

Rolling his eyes, Bill turned away and peeled off his shirt. Although the worst of puberty had already gotten in its blows, Bill was at the age that he was experiencing perspiration...a lot of perspiration... and therefore had to change shirts at least once a day. It was something that in another life would have embarrassed him, but in this one, he could care less about if Henry saw the pit stains and deduced why he was changing, or had noticed how skinny he was and how when he bent over you could almost count his ribs under the skin, a clear lack of muscle anywhere on his body... When he turned back around Henry’s eyes were glued firmly to the far wall- though the slight pink shade in his face was not lost to Bill.  _ God, I made him uncomfortable. Way to go Denbrough, you might as well have asked him to pay you for the strip show. _ Bill chewed his lip,  _ I’m too used to the Losers. I have to remember this is Henry Bowers. Not Richie, or Eddie, or anyone else. You know better than anyone what he’s capable of, even more than him.  _

“Hey Billy, you shit yourself or something?”

“Huh?” the words took a few seconds to register in Bill’s head. “Whuh-what, no!” 

“Then stop standing there eating your bottom lip, dumbass.” Henry scooted over and slapped the bed next to him. “We’ve only got a few hours before your parents get home.” 

Just relieved that there wasn’t any awkwardness between them, Bill grabbed his backpack and sat beside Bowers, pulling out textbooks as he got into a comfortable position.

“What duh-do you want to Ffffffocus on tuh-tuh-today?”

“Anything other than fucking English.”

Nodding, Bill opened up an Algebra book and handed Henry a blank piece of paper and pencil which Henry immediately began to gnaw on the end of as he peered over Bill’s shoulders at the questions.

_ “I want you to help me pass.”  _

_ “Whuh-what?” Bill’s hand froze on his locker combination as his head turned to face Henry, eyebrow cocked. _

_ “Your ears working as well as your mouth Denbrough? I want you to fucking tutor me.” Henry leaned against the lockers, planting his arm firmly on Bill’s so that even if he finished dialing his number he wouldn’t be getting in. Regardless of this Bill still tried but to no avail.  _

_ “They’ve guh-guh-got programs for that you knuh-know.” _

_ “Yeah, I know.” He hissed. “I know damn well. But all the teachers have already given up on me.”  _

_ “Thuh-there are student-” _

_ “You know as well as I do most of the kids here would rather piss themselves in front of the class than talk to me.” _

_ “Yeah I knuh-knuh-know. Wuh-wonder why Buh-Buh-Bowers.” Giving up on getting his books for the next period, Bill picked up his backpack and began walking down the hall, Henry at his heels.  _

_ “Bill! Bill come on. If you don’t I’ll-” _

_ Bill whirled on his heels, giving Henry a look filled with such intensity it made Henry take a step back. “What? What will you do Bowers? Beat me up?” Even on the dreaded “B” sound he did not stutter once.  _

_ Staring at him, Henry seemed genuinely taken aback by the question. “What? No..I’ll fail.” Taking a quick glance around and seeing that no one was really paying them much mind, Henry lowered his voice, eyes falling to the floor. “Listen...if I end up in summer school again my dad will…” he paused, “I just can’t end up in summer school again. You...You’ve helped me out before with..you know...can you just...just tutor me? At least for this next test.” Though the word “please” was never spoken, Henry was too prideful to ever even think of uttering the word, his eyes, which had risen to meet Bill’s, were begging him... and Bill knew what Henry’s dad would do if Henry ended up in dummy school.  _

_ “Fuh-Fine. Meet me after school, duh-duh-down by the flagpole in the buh-back and we’ll go tuh-to my house. Don’t make me regret this Buh-Buh-Bowers.”  _

_ Those pleading eyes lit up and even though Bill doubted the word was even in his vocabulary, they silently said “Thank you.” Then just as they’d finished their exchange, the other members of the Bowers gang rounded the corner, chatting and snickering as their eyes fell on Henry and Bill and their looks turned inquisitive.  _

_ Without hesitation, Henry shoved Bill, sending him staggering into the wall and was practically spitting in his face. “Watch where you’re walking fairy!”  _

_ Patrick snorted, “We’re skipping next period. You coming Henry or do we need to hang around a little longer to teach stuttering Bill some manners?” _

_ “Nah I think he learned his fucking lesson.” Hocking up a loogy, Henry spat a glob of greenish phlegm at Bill feet before turning and joining the other boys, but not before quickly mouthing “Sorry.”  _

That had been the start of these after school meetups. One session had turned into two, and two had turned into four more, and before either boy knew it they were hanging out at least twice a week after school. To Bill’s surprise, Henry wasn’t in fact a dumbass, but rather very bright- especially when it came to mathematics and science. Once he understood something he was often faster than Bill at it. It was words that were Henry Bower’s Achilles heel. After quite a few instances of whatever book they were reading being hurled against the wall, Bill had been able to gather that Henry wasn’t quite able to see words well. The way he described it was that they didn’t make any sense. He could see the letters within the word but they spelled out nonsense. It was Bill’s notion that Henry had dyslexia, but that was a thought kept only to himself. Telling Henry would only frustrate him as Bill doubted there was anyone in his life that would bother to get him diagnosed or the proper help he needed. So Bill had taken to, when they had a literature assignment, reading out loud. With Bill’s stutter, the chapters went slow and the process was nearly torture but in the end it did the trick and both of them were able to write their synopses on what they had just read. Henry had already finished the algebra homework and Bill was avoiding history, a subject he found quite boring since he had already learned it quite well in another life, and so they had no choice but to do literature. 

“I duh-do know that for the symp-puh-pathy of one living being, I would make puh-puh-peace with all.” Bill stopped for a moment to breathe, keeping his thumb pinned to the page as a placeholder and in that moment he became very aware of how close Henry was. The larger boy was gently leaning his head on Bill’s shoulder as he attempted to silently follow along. It was the closest they had ever been, Henry's breath warming Bill’s neck… and it was nice. Peaceful, even. Almost as if he was a cat, Bill tentatively lifted a hand and scratched softly behind Henry’s ear, never looking away from the book as he began to read again. When his fingers met skin Bill felt Bower’s go rigid for a second and just kept on reading. _ If he kills me god let it be quick and painless. _ However, Henry relaxed just as quickly as he’d tensed, and it may have been Bill’s imagination but he could’ve sworn Henry leaned into him more. “I have luh-luh-love in me the likes of whuh-which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of whuh-which you would not buh-buh-believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I wuh-will indulge the other.”

“God I fucking hate old English.” 

The breath on Bill’s neck seemed to grow hotter as though the cat had shifted into a huffing dragon. “Wh-whut don’t you guh-get?”

“Any of it! All these characters talk like fucking aliens. When the teacher said we’d be reading Frankenstein, I figured at least the monster would be cool but all he does is fucking talk and occasionally scare people. Pussy shit.”

“He duh-did kill someone.”

“Yeah but even that was lame. Like oh no, he accidentally strangled a child. Where’s the gore and the fucking mobs?”

Chuckling, Bill closed the book and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, Henry shifting with him, his head moving from Bill’s shoulder in favor of a pillow, leaving a lonely vacancy that Bill willed himself to ignore. “This may come as a surprise Buh-Bowers, but usually the buh-book is a lot different than the muh-muh-movie.” Then for no other reason but to be playfully spiteful, Bill added. “Yuh-You’d know that if you-”

“Read the book. Yeah yeah, fuck you too Denbrough.” Henry shoved Bill’s face, an action that resulted in a full-blown wrestling match after Bill hit him back. Limbs knocked and intertangled with limbs as the testosterone practically weighed down the air in the room. Bill had learned rather quickly that Henry liked any excuse to tussle and it had taken a few gos before Bill realized that he wouldn’t be hurt in these sessions. Knocked around, batted at, and pinned, yes. But Henry never went farther than that. It was surprising how gentle the older boy could be when he tried, and Bill passively wondered as his face was shoved into the mattress, if this is what the Bower’s Gang did when they weren’t acting like school terrors. 

Distracted by their play fighting, neither boy heard the front door creak open downstairs nor the sound of excited small feet pattering up the steps, as another Denbrough arrived home from a day at school. 

“OKAY! I guh-give, I give!” Bill mumbled, his left hand getting very familiar with his shoulder blade, the weight of the older boy causing him to practically be suffocated by the sheets. Although Bill couldn’t see him he was certain Henry Bowers had grin plastered from ear to ear. 

“Gotta say Uncle, Denbrough, those are the rules.”

“Henry it hurts!”

Henry had indeed been smiling quite widely at his victory, but it melted instantly as those words rang in his ears. An image of the little germaphobe shrieking passed before his eyes, his entire face torn and looking like he’d been rubbing it against gravel...or someone had been forcibly rubbing it against gravel. A sick feeling stirred in Henry’s stomach as he could practically feel the frail boy’s wrist in his hand, twisting, twisting, twisting... no.. breaking. 

Henry’s grip loosened, just as Bill had hoped and with a mighty thrust he threw his weight back, knocking Henry off balance. Not wasting a second, Bill whirled and tackled him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head. “Guh-Gotcha.” he grinned, though it wavered at the sight of Henry’s eyes. Henry’s pupils were expanded almost completely covering the color of his irises, like a possessed person in the horror flicks that Richie dragged him to. They were unfocused, distant, as though Henry were a hundred worlds away. “Henry?”

“Huh?” Henry blinked. Once. Twice. Then he stared up at Bill, his pupils their normal size. “Did you say something, Bill?”

“I suh-suh-said-”

BAM! The door to Bill’s room slammed open, causing both boys to spring like startled cats, Henry instantly darting for the window just in case he was about to get something thrown at him. 

“HENRY!”

Henry froze, halfway done with opening the window. He knew that voice and it certainly didn’t belong to someone he needed to fear. It was the farthest thing from an adult that could hurt him. 

“GUH-GUH-GEORGIE! What did I tuh-tell you about kn-knocking, you buh-bonehead?” 

Immune to that kind of name-calling, as most siblings are, the youngest Denbrough skipped in completely ignoring his older brother.

“Bill didn’t tell me you were gonna be over today, Henry! This is perfect! Mom and dad just got me that new video game you were telling me about! Can you come show me how to play Henry?”

Henry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off before a single sound could leave his throat. 

“Henry duh-doesn’t want to play your stuh-stuh-stupid game, Georgie! We’re stuh-studying.” 

Crossing his arms, Georgie planted himself in the middle of Bill’s room. “You guys didn’t look like you were studying.”

“We were tuh-taking a break and now the bruh-breaks over so you have to go.” 

“But Bill! I want to hang out with Henry!” Georgie’s bottom lip jutted out in a clear sign of defiance. The brown-haired boy might as well have grown roots as he crossed his arms and refused to move an inch.

Rolling his eyes, Bill was quick to dismiss this display in a true older sibling fashion. “Tuh-Too bad pi-pi-pipsqueak. Get lost.”

In response his bottom lip just puffed out further. Henry, a single child, regarded this entire exchange with amusement. It was like watching a cat and kitten yowling at each other from across the alleyway...over the attention and company of a mangy dog no less. However he and Bill did only had a limited amount of time, and Henry needed every second of it if he wanted any chance of not getting stuck in summer school, so he decided to pull out his best bargaining chips since he had a suspicion just promising to play video games later would not cut it. His tricks worked wonders when he wanted to get his little cousin, who came to stay with him every other summer, to get off his back for a night so he could hang out with the guys. With ease, Henry swooped up Georgie and placed him on Bill’s bed so they could be eye to eye, without Henry having to lean down, and he gave the ten-year-old his best adult voice.

“Listen here, George, I really want to hang out with you too, you know I think highly of ya. However, Bill and I have a lot of work to do and if you stay I’ll be too distracted to focus, do you understand? It’s near impossible to do hard work when there’s such a cool guy around.”

Georgie stared at Henry like he would Superman, nodding slowly at his words, his chest puffing a bit at being called simply George. Nobody could quite understand the plight of the younger sibling unless they were one. Everyone treated Georgie like he was small and a bit of a bother at times. He was ten years old! Hardly small. In fact, he had gained a whole two inches over the summer, he had measured himself against the doorframe. But Henry always treated him like he was big. He never told him to get lost, he always laughed and listened with interest to Georgie’s stories, and he called him George like he was talking to a man. All of this had earned Georgie’s complete and utter reverence and he would take anything Henry said as gospel. But despite all of this Henry could see the disappointment in the boys face and he felt a twinge of guilt even if getting Georgie to leave was needed.

“Tell you what, George. If you leave Bill and I alone while we get what we need to done. I’ll teach ya how to spit. Deal?”

This was met with a look of complete befuddlement on the youngers part. 

“But Henry...I already know how to spit. Everybody does.”

“Not like this they don’t.” Henry shook his head for emphasis. “I’ll teach you how to spit so you could knock an empty soda can off a fence post.”

“It can't be done!” Disbelief echoed in Georgie’s voice but his eyes sparkled with the absolute delight only a little boy could find in the idea of such a skill.

“You bet your ass it can be done! Fuck I’m the best spitter in Derry and I’ll deck anyone who says otherwise....but I can only show you if you leave us be. Deal?” He stuck out his hand which Georgie quickly clasped and shook.

“Deal!” Face filled with pure joy, Georgie practically skipped out of the room, even shutting the door behind him. Soon he was going to be the most worshiped boy in his class thanks to Henry. 

Chuckling, Henry turned only to see Bill leaning against his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, and a smug smile that just about made Henry punch him plastered across his face.

“Why, you’re nuh-nuh-nothing but a bi-bi-bi-big ol' softie Henry Bowers.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You tell anyone about this and I’ll knock your teeth out Denbrough.” There was no weight behind those words.

“Wh-what you guh-guh-gunna knock em out with your sp-spit?” 

“Well now that you mention it I just might,” Lips curling back, Henry made a threatening hacking noise in the back of his throat, greatly amused by the flash of panic on Bill’s face.

“If you spuh-spit on me Bowers you can say guh-guh-goodbye to me tutoring you.”

Swallowing, Henry rolled his eyes at him, walking back to the bed. “Pussy.”

Bill made an exasperated noise. “I don’t think I’m a puh-puh-pussy for not wanting Henry muh-mucus on me.”

Twirling his hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, Henry reopened Frankenstein to the exact page they’d left off. “Sorry, can’t hear you, I’m too busy studying.”

“A-hole.” A small smile threatened to betray his harsh words as he crawled in bed next to Henry and settled in beside him on his stomach. Their shoulders pressed together softly and the void that Henry’s cheek had left was once again filled as Bill began to read. 

The minutes seemed to last forever as Bill traversed every sentence, and for some odd reason, Henry’s heart swelled with pride whenever Bill overcame a particularly hard word. Henry never helped him, not because Bill had ever told him not to but because it was...fascinating to watch. For a few seconds every other sentence, Bill’s entire face would scrunch up as his lips twitched, held hostage by the sound. Sometimes it would only take a second, other times it could be up to thirty. However long the wait it was, it was always worth it when Bill finally spat the word out. It was like watching someone come to peace with themselves over and over and Henry was transfixed by the cycle of pain then relief that was held within Bill’s eyes. Despite how much he poked fun at it, Henry admired how Bill handled his stutter. He never hung his head low and always spoke to be heard despite it. If Henry had to deal with something as humiliating as a stutter he’d never speak again. Perhaps that was just one of many things that made Bill Denbrough extraordinary compared to him. He used to resent him for it but was now just amazed by it. Somewhere deep inside he wished he could stay here forever just being constantly amazed and he found himself once again jealous over the Losers, who got to freely stand by Bill’s side, not having to worry about their image or reputations or what father might beat them when they got home, at least as far as he knew.

“BILLY, DINNERS READY!”

“COMING MOM!” Sighing, Bill closed the book and checked his nightstand clock. It was a Lone Ranger clock, featuring the man himself behind the hands pointing his gun out at whoever dared to check the time. Had it really been two hours already? When Bill turned the same disappointment was broadcasted on Henry’s face. He was already standing up and putting on his jacket. Bill didn’t want him to go. It didn’t feel right for him to go. Every time this Bowers left the old one came back at school, cold, nasty... and Bill would have to wait another day or so before he got to be with this Bowers again. This Bowers who was his friend. This Bowers who made fun of his stutter but there was no cruelty behind it. This Bowers who joked with him and play fought with him. This Bowers who was kind to Georgie and had helped Bill fix his bike last week. This Bowers who made Bill’s chest heat up like a furnace and filled him with a warmth he had only felt for Beverly Marsh and then his wife.  _ In another life, Bill. _

“Do you want to sleepover?” 

Henry stopped and stared, his face clearly asking the same question Bill was inwardly asking himself. _ “Really? Do you really want Henry Bowers sleeping in your bed tonight? Are you sure about this Bill?” _

“I can buh-bring you some leftovers after duh-duh-dinner. Mom’s muh-makes pot roast on Tuh-Tuesdays. It’s really good.”

Uncertainty still hung over Henry’s expression as he glanced at the window.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcom-”

“Home muh-made bread too!” Was all Bill could manage to say. “Mom always muh-makes homemade bread to guh-go with pot roast night. It buh-buh-basically melts in your mouth and is really guh-good dipped in the buh-broth.”

Despite himself, Henry was salivating as a slow deep growl emitted from his stomach. He had the fortune of sampling some of Mrs. Denbrough’s pot roast before, on a day when Bill had brought a bit extra to school and had offered. It was edible heaven with big chunky potatoes, garden picked vegetables, and real meat- and not the variety that you bought from the bargain bin, but the kind that had fat that dissolved in your mouth and was just chewy enough that you were forced to savor each juicy piece. It made the cold bowl of baked beans that was most likely awaiting him at home look like pig squalor. If the offer of a real bed to sleep in that night wasn’t enough to convince him, the allure of pot roast certainly was. 

“Okay. Sure. Just don’t complain when I hog the sheets.” 

Bill broke out into a smile.

“Fuh-fine by me. It gets too hot at night anyways.” 

With that, Bill raced down to eat dinner with his family and Henry was left alone. He took off his jacket and got back into bed, this time leaving his shoes on the floor. Without Bill to keep his mind distracted, exhaustion flooded Henry- but at least, for the time being, he wasn’t hallucinating.  _ Going insane you mean _ . Pulling the covers around himself Henry tried to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, terrified of whatever awaited him in his dreams. But days of disrupted sleep were catching up, and his eyelids seemed to gain ten pounds with every blink. Bill had just climbed the stairs with a bowl of pot roast when they finally closed for good, though Henry was distantly aware of a body climbing in bed next to him and the sweetest voice he’d ever heard whisper “night, Henry.” Then the darkness captured him, but that night Henry Bowers had no nightmares. 

  
  
  



	4. What Happens In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone sorry for taking so long with this! Just been having a super hard time writing as of late but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it!
> 
> I also wanted to put a minor Trigger Warning for some implied self-harm in this chapter! it's nothing explicit and I tried to handle it tactfully and respectfully but I wanted to give a little heads up regardless! Thank you!

_ First it was Eddie, his chilling scream almost inhuman as It splintered his rib cage, gouging through his abdomen before throwing his limp form back like a Raggedy Anne doll. Just seconds ago he had been standing over Richie a grin of pure childish joy plastered across his dirt-stained face. _

_ “I did it Richie! I killed It!”  _

_ Pennywise had always loved cruel irony. Richie had been the second, his expression shifting from pride to twisted horror instantaneously as Eddie was impaled in front of his eyes and practically torn from his arms. _

_ “EDS!” Agony filled his cracking voice as he jolted forward trying to reach out, to grab hold of Eddie's hands, as though if he could just touch him he could pull him back to life. “EDDIE!”  _

_ Eddie’s body was hurled off of Pennywise’s claw and slapped against the stone wall with a sickening THUD as the giant spider-like monstrosity turned to Richie, it’s smile only stretching over its maw of pointed teeth.  _

_ “Broke his back and broke your heart didn’t I Richie?” Its right claw dropped through the air, causing Richie to scramble back, just barely avoiding losing his leg as the curved bone crashed into the ground, the impact so great the entire chamber moaned. “And you didn’t even get to tell him your secret? Huh Richie? Always the funny man and always the coward.”  _

_ Richie emitted a noise somewhere between a low moan and a cry, tears beginning to pour down worn wrinkled cheeks as his back connected with wall. There was nowhere left to go. _

_ “RICHIE I'M COMING!” Bill really had tried. He sprinted faster than he ever knew he was capable, leaping over Eddie's mangled body, keeping his eyes locked on the one he could save...only he was across the cave and human legs could only travel so far. Distantly he was aware of Beverly, Mike, and Ben doing the same. But they were all only human. That was their biggest fault. They weren’t even kids anymore, time had stolen the only advantage they had ever had against It. How could they have possibly fathomed that they would be able to do this? _

_ Hands shaking and a mixture of tears and snot running over his cheeks and chin, Richie Tozier turned his face upwards to stare Pennywise dead in the eyes, the clown raising its reapers claw once again.  _

_ “RICHIE!” His legs burned. Bill had just managed to reach the top of the incline. 50 feet...40 feet... Their eyes met as Bill ran towards him and time seemed to slow if not stop altogether. A thin smile spread across Richie's face as he stared at Bill, and all at once a peacefulness filled his eyes. It was worse than any shriek or cry he could have made because in that moment Bill realized he was too late and Richie knew it too. _

_ “Kick this bastard’s ass, Big Bill.” With that Richie tilted his face back towards the clown- no- towards heaven, and muttered: “I love you Eds.” As the claw swung down. _

_ Blood splattered across Bill's face in fast stinging drops as Richie’s upper body was separated from its lower half and for a moment Richie's eyes went wide before the life left them. His top side hit the ground with an almost sickly comedic SPLAT and his glasses clattered across the stone, coming to a mocking stop at Bill’s feet. For a moment all he could do was stare at them as the other breathing Losers wailed in the background, their hearts breaking twice within a span of seconds. For all he knew he was wailing with them- hell, he could be screaming with rage, but the only reality Bill was truly aware of in that moment was the cracked glasses that lay in front of him and the blood that soaked his skin. That was why he never saw the other claw coming.  _

_ It was the impact he noticed first, the blow shooting him back. By all means he shouldn’t have survived, the blade ripped through his stomach, eviscerating him, but then fate never really did smile on Bill Denbrough. He was pinned to the ground, like a stuck bug, left to squirm as It turned its attention to Beverly, Mike, and Ben.  _

_ “BILL!” Beverly’s voice tore the air. It was pained and broken but despite all of that, beautiful. He loved her. In another life where Ben didn’t exist and things like child-eating clowns remained in the movies where they were supposed to, he would have married her.  _

_ “Buh...B..e....v..” It was all he could manage between what felt like fountains of blood spewing from his mouth. By all means he shouldn’t be alive but perhaps this was what It wanted. He closed his eyes as Beverly’s screams turned from fear to agony and from the sounds of it Mike and Ben were close behind. Their dying shrieks seemed eternal, echoing around the cave, crawling into Bill’s ears, nesting inside his head so he could hear them till his last breath. God, if you are real just let me die! Please God just let me die. But of course, God couldn’t exist in a life where child-eating clowns were allowed to thrive outside of the big screen. In a life where Bill had to watch and listen to each and every one of his best friends- his family- die while he lay on a cold stone floor his internal organs external.  _

_ Finally, after what felt like years the source of the screams stopped, though Bill still heard them. He heard them loud and clear and sharp. But in the cave itself there was nothing but the sound of Bill coughing, as more red splattered against the ground beside him.  _

_ “Closing your eyes won’t make the monster go away Billy Boy. Not this time.” the all too familiar voice cooed. _

_ Bill didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Blood had pooled in his mouth and it took everything he had to weakly cough, just barely holding onto life, his lungs hyperventilating as they gasped for the air he desperately needed. Not that oxygen would fix the hole in his stomach.  _

_ “Just imagine Billy.” the bells on Pennywise’s collar jingled as It shivered with anticipation and excitement. It had waited patiently, 27 years for this moment. Oh how patient It had been and now that it was here It was going to savour the time it had. “If you had just accepted Georgie’s death like your parents, you would have lived such a loooong and happy life. Your friends would still be alive and thriving in their successful jobs. No one would have been traumatized that summer. If you had just heeded my words you would have saved so many lives, Billy Boy.” A cruel chuckle echoed around the cave. “Even Henry Bowers and his friends had to die because of your interference. There's So much blood on your hands, isn’t there Bill? All for what? Vengeance for a little boy who was buried 27 years ago?”  _

_ In response Bill grunted, but it was all the protest he could make. However, he did slide his eyes open to glare the devil itself in it’s glowing yellow eyes.  _

_ That ever-present grin only grew bigger as It shifted forward so It was just close enough that Bill could feel it’s breath and see in detail the saliva dripping from It’s painted lips, stained red by more than just paint. _

_ “You know Billy, I only eat to feed, to survive and I feed once every twenty-seven years, take my fair share, and then let the town of Derry thrive. Bowers was a beaten dog driven to insanity but even then was loyal to his friends, he would have never intentionally put them in danger. So what’s your excuse Bill Denbrough? For knowingly dragging six children, that were supposedly your best friends, to their deaths for the sake of your grief?”  _

_ Large slender white fingers wrapped themselves around Bill’s face and with surprising gentleness tilted it to the side, towards Richie and it was then that Bill saw the horrifying truth that he had perhaps known all along. Richie Tozier, with his round face and crooked nose, braces just barely poking through his lips as he lay severed into two pieces, just as he was the first time they entered the sewers. Then Bill’s face was moved again and he saw Eddie Kaspbrak. Weak little asthmatic Eddie who always stared at Bill as though he was the sun, slumped over, his head twisted to the side so it touched his shoulder, his shirt stained with drying blood as his broken arm hung at his side, still clutching his inhaler in its hand. Only a few feet from him stood Mike Hanlon, or rather the form of Mike Hanlon, the fourteen-year-old forever frozen with one arm shielding his face and the other outstretched in an attempt to shield the figures that lay behind him. It appeared like he had been burned so intensely he had been reduced to nothing but charred muscle and bone, though in his face Bill could still see agony. On the ground behind him Ben Hanscom lay face down, his back ripped open to expose his spine, his right hand still intertwined with the person he’d thrown himself over to protect. Bill couldn’t see what exactly had killed Beverly Marsh due to Ben’s mass, but he could just make out the red caking down Beverly’s short curls as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Lastly and without Pennywise’s guidance, Bill stared down at himself- and though his injuries had not changed, he had gotten smaller. What used to be adult muscle was replaced by adolescent baby fat and bone. And his hair, which had receded to the point that he didn’t even have to style it back, hung annoyingly in front of his eyes.  _

_ They were all just children. Children that had once again followed him into the depths of hell. Mike may have brought them together, but it was Bill who led them. It was Bill who they trusted. It was Bill- Big Bill as they all lovingly called him, who was supposed to protect them. In the end it was he, not Henry Bowers, or Patrick Hockstetter, or even Pennywise, it was he, Bill Denbrough who had killed them all.  _

_ “Puh-Puh…..Please….fuh...fuh…….fuh...forgive….me.” _

_ It tilted its head back and shrieked with laughter, an unpleasant sound that felt as though it might split Bill’s head open. It laughed so hard that black tears were pouring from its eyes and its body convulsed and shivered, those incessant bells jingling. “Oh Billy, Billy, Billy. Don’t worry- because as long as I’m around, no one truly dies in Derry. You’ll be with your friends soon and then we’ll alllllll float together.” Finally, Pennywise raised its other claw for the last time, lifting it high above its head…..and then swung down.  _

Bill shot up in bed screaming, thrashing at the sheets that trapped him, the fabric gripping his legs tightly. Awakening almost instantly with a scream himself, Henry was quick to cover Bill’s mouth and grab his wrists.

“Denbrough, what the fuck’s your problem!” Henry hissed as his eyes darted to the door, listening intently for any hint at footsteps, his entire body tensed, poised to dart at a moment's notice. When none came his attention returned to Bill who was shaking, tears streaming down his face, making Henry freeze in his tracks. He sat there for a second, hand still clasped firmly over Bill’s mouth, unsure of what to do. “D-Denbrough?” 

His only response was more choked sobs as Bill collapsed in on himself, wrapping his arms around his body and pulling his legs up to his chest. This was not Henry’s element in the slightest. Emotions were meant to be bottled down. That’s what men did. If you were upset you went outside and punched something or someone, or maybe both if it was a particularly bad day. But boys didn’t cry and they certainly didn’t comfort each other. However, every quivering sob made Henry shift with discomfort and somewhere deep within his subconscious, a memory stirred.  _ Well...if it’ll help shut him up _ . Hesitantly, Henry slipped a hand under the back of Bill’s shirt and just gently scratched his back, something his mother used to do to console him after… after his dad had needed to release a good internalized cry. They remained that way for a while, Henry running his nails softly over Bill’s bony back and Bill just weeping into the chamber of his knees. Gradually though, the bawling turned to blubbering and from there a weak whimper. However, Bill did not move from his position. 

“Bill?” Henry said softly, “You hurt?” That felt more dignifying than asking why Bill had just cried his eyes out like a girl. 

The brown-haired head shook subtly, his face still buried in his arms and legs. “Suh..sorry…” 

“Then mind telling me what the FUCK that was all about? I thought you were being murdered or something with the way you screamed.”

“Juh-juh-juh...juh-juh-juh-FUCK!” Bill caved in on himself more as his hands rose to grip his hair, but the action quickly turned violent as he slid them down the back of his head and dug them into his neck, nails pursing so deep, pinpricks of blood rose up around them. 

Both the outburst and the self-harm made Henry panic. This wasn’t Bill Denbrough. That wasn’t something Bill Denbrough did. That was something he would do after fucking up and stuttering Bill was nothing like him. Fear devolved into anger and without thinking he yanked his hand out from beneath the shirt, grabbed Bill’s wrists and shook him. 

“Stop it! Fucking stop it!” Spit spattered on Bill’s face, his seafoam eyes wide with shock. “What the fucks wrong with you? I’ll wait to hear what you have to say but you’re not going to get it out if you cut your fucking neck open!” 

“Nightmare,” Bill said, clearly still stunned. “I had a horrible nightmare.” 

That made Henry stop cold, an uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach as he gently released Bill’s wrists.  _ Everyone has nightmares Henry. Stop acting like a spaz.  _

“What, were you dreaming about Richie Tozier?”

All at once the darkness seemed to wash from Bill’s face and he let out a half snort. 

“No I wasn’t dreaming about Richie Tozier...well, I mean.. kinda, but that wasn’t what made it a nightmare.” Not thinking much either, Bill put his arms around Henry’s neck and just let himself wilt against the bigger boy's chest, desperately needing the physical comfort none of the Losers were there to give him. “Thanks.” 

Just relieved that Bill was back to normal and things were as they should be, Henry awkwardly returned the gesture, his hands resting on Bill’s shoulder blades. Boys also didn’t hug...not other boys at least, but the feeling of pressure against his skin was nice, so just this once he’d let it go. Perhaps when a boy grows up in a mansion his parents let a few lessons slide. 

They remained that way, entangled together, for what felt like hours to both boys, but a quick glance to the Lone Ranger’s guns revealed it had only been a few minutes. Neither wanted to break from the silent comfort that they had formed together. For Bill, at that moment it felt like Henry’s arms were the only things keeping his tears at bay. After all who wanted to cry in front of their bully? For Henry, it was desperately holding onto a luxury he so rarely got. After all who wanted to hold the bully?   
  


“Hey Buh-Buh-Bowers?”

“What D-D-Denbrough? Ow!” Henry jumped at a sharp pinch on his shoulder and pulled back to glare at the brown-haired boy in his arms who was proudly guilty of the offense, a grin plastered across his face. “Fuckin’ piece of shit.” Feeling like this was an appropriate time to escape the embrace, and the feelings it stirred in him, Henry began the process of unceremoniously untangling Bill’s appendages from himself and getting up. Better to feel empty than figure out why this made him feel good. Once he was fully separated, he sat up and leaned back, arms glued firmly on his hips as he tried, unsuccessfully, to crack the stiffness out of his spine. Not even that would help the constant soreness his body held. “So were you just trying to be a pest or is there something you actually want?” 

Still grinning, Bill rose as well, mirroring Henry in his stretches. When he bent back his shirt rose up, revealing a bit of his stomach, and when he returned to an upright position he just barely caught Henry’s eyes quickly darting away from him to stare firmly at the wall. 

“Wuh-well i was guh-guh-going to ask if you wanted to shower fuh-first.” 

“Nah. I showered two days ago.” 

“Wha...Henry you..you knuh-know what nuh-nuh-nevermind. Well I fuh-for one would puh-puh-puh-prefer to not smell like a puh-pig farm so if you’ll excuse me.” Rolling his eyes, Bill threw his legs over the bed and stood up, hissing a bit at the feeling of the cold wood against his bare skin. “At least puh-put on a new shirt.” 

“Don’t have one.” Henry replied, in a matter of fact tone that bordered on snarkiness. “Do I look like the type who just carries spare clothes on him?” 

“Suppose not. More like the type that duh-doesn’t have any spares.” Smirking at his own remark Bill turned to scrounge through his drawer, unaware of the hurt that flashed across Henry’s face as he became suddenly very aware of each and every hole and stain in his clothing. The comment, while not ill-intended, had hit a little too close to home. Shirt after shirt passed through Bill's hands as he silently critiqued each article.  _ Too small, bad colors, he’d punch me if I even suggested that-AHA! _ With a grunt of victory, Bill pulled out an ocean-blue shirt, a gift from a relative that always thought Bill was a few years older and sent him clothing choices that were sized accordingly. “See if this fits. If so juh-juh-just keep it, I never wear it.”

Reacting with the reflexes of a toddler, Henry grabbed for the shirt which was promptly hurled at him only to have it engulf his head. A string of mumbled curses following the event, he yanked it from his face, tongue cocked to fire a few of them off at Bill only to pause and stare at it as what Bill had said began to truly process. It was his to just...keep? Henry rarely received gifts, aside from maybe a beer on the birthdays his father remembered and little things here and there from his friends and cousins. When the world never smiles on you, you just come to accept that it never will. Tentatively, and glancing up to make sure Bill wasn’t looking, Henry pressed the fabric to his nose. Clean. No lingering aroma’s of cigarette smoke, sweat, or pig shit. Just the tiniest hint of lemon that clung to the inside of his nostrils like a welcomed visitor.  _ That won’t last long on the farm. _ But if Bill wanted to give him a perfectly good shirt to ruin, who was he to complain? 

“Well? Duh-Do you want it?”

“If it’ll get you off my ass then fine!” Thank you was a word as common in his vocabulary as pogonotrophy, and to Henry just about as useful. Even if he desperately wanted to vocalize how ridiculously warm it made his stomach and head feel and how he slightly wished it smelled like Bill, those sentiments would never make it past his pride to his mouth. Standing up, Henry peeled off his own shirt, tossing it unceremoniously to the ground as he fumbled with the blue one. 

Rolling his eyes at Henry’s answer, Bill picked out his own outfit for the day, his previous meticulousness lost. He was never one to care much for fashion. Finally, he settled for a scarlet and white shirt with a deep blue pocket on the front and some navy blue jeans, ones that didn’t ride up his ass too much while he was on Silver. When he turned around to once again remind Henry that he would be gone for a few minutes to take a shower, he froze, staring at Henry’s shirtless body, or more specifically staring at his bare back. It was littered with scars and bruises all in various stages of healing, a few particularly ghastly dark spots contrasting angrily against his pale back and the damage wasn’t constrained to just his skin. Bill winced as his eyes fell on two ribs that were misshapen, dipping in on themselves before following their normal path to his sternum. 

_ “Leave me alone! It’s none of your fucking business Denbrough!” _

Henry’s body was like a morbid diary of his life: broken and neglected and it made something in Bill ache. The boy all of Derry had turned a blind eye to for the sake of not rocking the boat… and had still allowed the inflictor of his pain to remain in his position as sheriff. It was sickening.  _ And we all had the nerve to wonder openly why he was so mean when we damn well knew. Crazy old Butch Bowers is what we all called his dad and yet we still acted as though Henry was being raised by the pope.  _

“Didn’t you say you were getting in the shower Billy?”

Bill glanced up from his thoughts to see Henry staring at him, his eyes narrowed as though he was trying to pierce through Bill’s skull to see inside his head. The blue shirt was on and hugged his lean form tightly in a flattering manner. It made him look longer somehow and less like a hulking mass of muscle. 

“Yuh-yeah. Was just making a muh-mental note of the things I’ll need for sk-sk-school today.” Not wanting to allow room for any further questions, Bill snatched up the clothes and headed out his bedroom door, pausing to state, “My parents won’t buh-be awake for a buh-buh-bit. Feel free to get breakfast in the kuh-kitchen.” before closing the oak door behind him and walking down the hall to the staircase. Just before he took the first step to descend the flight of stairs before him, Bill detoured to Georgie’s room as had become his morning routine, ever so slightly cracking open the door to peek inside. Bundled up within an ocean of covers, Georgie was all but entirely concealed, the only indication of his presence the slight rise and fall of the sheets around him and the soft out of place snort. _ Still there Bill. Just like he had been every day before that. _ Every morning he checked and every morning he knew what he’d find, yet his paranoia gnawed at him. How many times in his other life had he opened that door to an empty room? Bill gently returned the door to it’s frame, closing his eyes and trying his best to shake the ghosts that haunted him as he continued his journey to the shower. 

_ “Closing your eyes won’t make the monster go away Billy Boy. Not this time.”  _

The hot water shot out and baptized Bill’s awaiting face, cleansing all evidence of his tears along with the typical sweat and dirt. It was the sweetest relief to just stand there and let it run over his skin and down his body. Comforting even. It felt like nothing could hurt him here. Not Pennywise, not his nightmares, not even Henry Bowers. Of course logically he knew that if It was awake, a locked bathroom door wouldn’t protect him, Beverly Marsh was proof enough of that, but they had fought It and put it to rest. It wouldn’t be a problem for another twenty-seven years. So why did the nightmares keep coming? 

_ “Kick this bastard’s ass, Big Bill.” _

Bill gasped, choking on water that poured into his open mouth as the image of Richie’s severed body once again flashed before his eyes. And just like that he wasn’t alright. He wasn’t safe. It wasn’t going to be okay. The tears began to flow again, intertwining with the streams of water cascading down his cheeks, harder than they had before and he could swear the shower reeked of sewage. Why him? Out of all of them why did the turtle choose him to carry this burden? Some famous man who Bill couldn’t remember the name of had said “knowledge was power.”  _ Hah _ . As Richie would have said  _ “that’s a good chuck.”  _ It was no power, but rather a sickening burden like parasite that clung to the back of Bill’s head, pulsating and seething into his thoughts.  _ Call me selfish, but I wish I had died impaled on that fuckers claw. Fuck the children of Derry. What’s a few of them every twenty-seven years? I’ve already done this. I’ve already done this. _

“I’VE ALREADY DONE THIS!” Bill screamed into the void of the shower, his strained voice seemingly lost to the water as he crumbled in on himself, as though his arms could block out the world and shield him from the oncoming unknown. “I’ve...already...duh-duh-duh-done this.” he whimpered softly. It was a quiet, desperate plea to the heavens. To a god. To a turtle. But the only response he received was the soft ratta-tat-tatting of the water against skin and tile. Ratta-tat-tat. _ It’s your job to fix everything Bill. _ Ratta-tat-tat.  _ To make sure you don’t lead them to their deaths again.  _ Ratta-tat-tat.  _ But how am I supposed to know if I changed enough?  _ Ratta-tat-tat.  _ Can’t know. _ Ratta-tat-tat.  _ Not until I’ve led them into hell again. _ Ratta-tat-tat. With shaky legs, Bill rose to his feet and clasped the handle of the shower, slowly pushing it to OFF as he stumbled out, convinced more than ever that he could smell the sewer through the drain. It was making him sick. Going to the sink felt like it took eons, each step lasting a thousand years as Bill’s head pounded with nausea, but he got there somehow, despite his shaky legs threatening mutiny and for a moment as he forced himself to look up at the mirror he swore he saw the past him. But there was no forty-year-old man in that reflection, just a tired teenage boy with eyes much too old for the rest of him. He had heard that trauma aged people mentally, and couldn’t stop a sad chuckle as he reached for a razor to reap the newly grown bristles on his chin. Heaven knows his brain must be in it’s 90’s by now. 

The razor, a striking silver thing that fit perfectly in his hand had been a gift from his father a few months back after noticing the patches of brown hair that had begun popping up on his face and neck. His father had even taken the time to show Bill how to use it, shaving his own face in demonstration as he guided Bill in shaving his own. It had been a sweet gesture despite Bill being already well versed in the skill. Not that he could have ever begun to explain that he had been shaving for many many years. However, it was a good memory- one that Bill clung to, and one that gave him immense guilt as he held that razor and thought about cutting anything besides the hairs on his face. Isn’t that how Stanley had originally done it? A razor? Or was it a knife? The five blades flashed under the yellow bathroom light as Bill turned the tool in his hand. Poor Stanley. Even before any confirmation they had all known to some extent. He had always been a boy of a weaker composition, but perhaps he had been wiser than any of them. He had ended his pain swiftly with just...a few cuts across the wrist. With just a few cuts he had escaped both the past and the present, and no turtle brought him back. _ I’m so scared of the future Stanley. _ The teeth of the razor felt like ice as he testingly placed it against his wrist. 

Ratta-tat-tat   
  


*********************************************************************************************

Henry had indeed felt free to help himself to what was in the kitchen, his stomach lecturing him for not having eaten in over ten hours. Unfortunately, Mrs. Denbrough was the type of broad who believed a reheated meal was the scorn of a homemaker- and therefore the Bowers boy was finding very little he could eat on the spot, save for some uncooked vegetables. Huffing, Henry withdrew some raw eggs and bacon, praying this would be the day he didn’t burn something on the stove, an achievement he didn’t succeed in often. Worst case scenario it would be cold stew for breakfast, and there were definitely far worse fates a man could endure, chilled baked beans being pretty high on that list. 

The gas stove rumbled to life with a small groan of protest as fire ignited under the steel grating, though it was quickly smothered by the iron pan. After a few minutes the pan was sizzling with three eggs and five slices of bacon which were popping and dancing on the hot surface. It hadn’t been his finest work, with several eggshells mocking him inside the slowly hardening eggwhite and another egg scrambling as he had broken the yolk while cracking it, but the smell had him salivating regardless.

_ Maybe I should make Bill some? Would he want some? Fuck, it’d probably be cold by the time he’s done with the shower, kid seems like he’d take long ones _ . Henry glanced towards the hallway leading into the bathroom, straining his ears for any indication of Bill finishing up, but was only met with the distant sound of water running. Why did he care if Bill wanted some anyways? It’s not like breakfast was any abnormality for the speech-impaired kid. After all that was part of the privilege of having a mother who stuck around right? Three warm meals every day?

“Oh-Heya Henry.” 

Springing in place like a cat, Henry spun towards the stairs, nearly knocking his still cooking breakfast off the griddle. “FUCKING-Jesus Christ, George you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

Georgie stood on the fourth step to the floor, still in his dinosaur pajamas as he rubbed the sleep out of one eye. “Sorry Henry.” 

“What’re you doing up so early?” Rubbing his head in an attempt to make the hair on his arms and neck go down, Henry leaned against the oven, glaring up at the boy from underneath narrowed lids. 

“I’m always up this early.” Georgie jumped over the last three steps, landing on the floor with only a slight wobble in his balance from which he quickly recovered before walking into the kitchen. “Watchya cookin?” 

“Eggs and bacon. Want some?” 

Wrinkling his nose, Georgie shook his head. “I don’t like my bacon crispy.” 

The smell of burning food hit Henry’s nose like a slap just as Georgie finished his sentence. “FUCK!” Thick smoke rose up from the skillet in flowing waves while Henry scrambled to turn the heat off and remove it. If that triggered the fire alarm he was fucked. The scenario of Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough coming downstairs to the sound of a wailing siren played on loop in his head as he desperately smothered the smoke. They would definitely call the police as soon as they saw him, which meant they’d call his dad, or another officer would definitely tell his dad. They always did when Butch’s “problem child” was involved. Either way, if that happened he wouldn’t be able to lay on his back for months. Henry winced at the ghost of a leather belt sliding over his back. 

After what felt like hours, Henry finally got the food to stop smoking, though he still kept his eyes glued to the small white circle attached to the ceiling with bated breath. Any second. Any second now. Ten heartbeats passed, then twenty, and after it had been a minute, Henry exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.  _ The world sure is fucking grinning on you today isn’t it Hank? _ Hand running through his hair, Henry glanced back at the pan laying abandoned in the sink, it’s containment’s looking only fit to feed a fire.  _ Damnit...I only looked away for a second _ . 

“Sure you don’t want eggs and bacon George?”

“Nope!” Was the blunt reply as Georgie drowned a bowl of cheerios in milk.

_ Cereal. Of course there was fucking cereal.  _ Inwardly kicking himself, Henry fell into the chair next to Georgie and unceremoniously shoved a handful of the cheerios in his mouth, downing it with a swig of milk straight from the jug. 

Georgie’s nose wrinkled as he watched milk dribble down Henry’s chin. If he had done something like that in front of his mom he would have been scolded into tomorrow and sent to his room with the message “to come down when he could eat like polite company and not a barnyard animal”, but the expression on Henry’s face kept him from saying so. Maybe manners just weren’t as important when you were an older boy as strong and grown-up as Henry? Maybe the words of chiding mothers just weren’t powerful anymore. The idea of someone even attempting to banish Henry to his room seemed so incomprehensible to Georgie. In his mind Henry was more powerful than any adult or monster under the bed. Especially monsters.  _ It must be nice to be big and not scared of anything. _

_ I probably should head out after breakfast. It’s still early so I’ll have time to finish my chores before dad wakes up. Oh god I hope he’s not awake.  _ Henry’s knee jigged under the grainy wood of the dining room table, making Georgie’s cereal slosh ever so slightly as his bottom lip became entrapped underneath his teeth. Absentmindedly, the milk found its way to his mouth again, this time without the cheerios accompanying it as his eyes stared straight ahead. The alarm had practically obliterated the mental dam that had been already straining to hold back Henry’s anxiousness over spending the night. Even if he didn’t necessarily get in trouble, what the hell would his father say if he found out he had spent the night at some boy’s house? A boy who he was purposefully never seen with outside of these walls. After the magazines Butch found last month, Henry’s ribs still hadn’t recovered from that incident, he’d be likely to come to all the wrong conclusions.  _ Or right ones.  _ But that thought was lost within the flood of others, washed far away to where it couldn’t stick and become a problem.

“Henry?” A small finger gently rapped Henry’s shoulder, unknowingly pressing on tender purple skin underneath the sleeve of the shirt. “Hey Henry?”

“What!” All but baring his teeth, Henry snarled at Georgie, the younger boy withdrawing like he’d been stung. As Henry’s consciousness settled back into his eyes it was a move that immediately made his stomach twist. Georgie, the ten-year-old who stared at Henry as though he could do no wrong, seemed small before him, cowering even, his bottom lip quivering slightly. Henry had never (and would never) hit Georgie, but with the way the boy was staring at him he might as well have.  _ Fuck _ . Taking in a deep breath, Henry did his best to try and force the anxiety out with the exhale, and although it did help he could still feel some remnants of it implanted between his eyebrows, ripping his head apart piece by piece. “Sorry George. You just were tapping on a wound and it hurt. What do you want?” 

When Georgie spoke his voice was soft and filled with shaky remorse. “I-I’m sorry Henry.”

_ Kid probably hasn’t been properly yelled at a day in his life. _ “It’s fine. Just caught me off guard is all.” For the sake of the younger boy, Henry forced a smile and ruffled Georgie’s brown hair roughly, bobbing his head back and forth like one of the vintage baseball player bobbleheads Belch collected. “You’re too sneaky for your own damn good.”

Underneath Henry’s hand, the boy grinned and batted at him playfully, the little fingers wrapping around Henry’s wrist and futilely attempting to lift it. 

“Henry you’re gonna tear my hair out!”

“Not my problem. You’ve got plenty of it!” Laughing, Henry snaked his arm around Georgie’s neck and with one swift masterful move, pulled the boy's face into his armpit, leaving him to stew there for a few seconds as the boy shrieked, his screams of horror muffled into Henry’s skin. “Have you learned your lesson or am I gonna have to tell you again?”

“I’ve learned! I’ve learned!” Georgie came up gasping for much needed clean air, tears of laughter and suffocation falling down his cheeks. “You stink worse than Bill!” 

“And don’t you forget it. Caught my baby cousin Connor stealing one of my knives. He got the pit for ten minutes and couldn’t smell right the rest of the week. Now, what was so important that you needed to poke me with your nubby little fingers.” 

“Gross!” The word was riddled with giggles that had Georgie’s entire face a-glow and for a few seconds Henry forgot that he was faking the good mood. “I just wanted to know if you could show me how to spit like you promised! We’ve got plenty of bottles in recycling!” 

_ Oh yeah, guess I did promise that. _ Henry glanced at the old grandfather clock hanging on the side of the wall, the gold pendulum hanging beneath it swinging in perfect time, emphasizing each passing second with a soft tap as it brushed the inside wood. “Uh...I should get going pretty soon George..” 

“But you promised!” A pout was beginning to brew on Georgie’s face. “Besides you can’t leave without Bill!”

“Why? Is he that much of a girl that he needs a man to walk him to school?” Henry sneered, ignoring the fact that he would probably push getting home to his father being awake as far as he dared if it meant getting to leave with Bill. Once again he glanced at the clock. He could probably give himself twenty minutes at the latest. “Alright fine. Where are all these bottles.”

“In the cellar!” Came the joyous reply and Georgie nodded towards a brown door standing ominously to the side of the kitchen. 

The cellar? “...Alright, why don’t you go get some then.”

“Weeell…” Georgie’s eyes slid across the room to stare at the door, his face seeming like he’d rather be looking anywhere else. “See...it’s really damp and musty down there and I’ve just been getting over this cold...and I really don’t want to agitate it.” Just for good measure he did a pitiful little cough into his hand. 

“Uh-huh.”  _ He won’t be winning any awards soon with a performance like that, that’s for sure.  _ “Well then if you’re feeling that shitty we probably shouldn’t be doing any spitting. Don’t want to agitate your throat and all.”

Those big brown eyes immediately settled on Henry, silently pleading with him. “Pleeease Henry?” 

“I dunno. I don’t see why I should be the one to go into your gross cellar seeing as I’m doing you a favour.” 

“W-Well because!...Because…..”

“Careful George you’re starting to sound like Bill.”

“Because..” The boys’ eyes darted as his mind desperately searched for a reason as to why the bigger boy should have to get up from his seat and do a task that he himself was perfectly capable of doing, though if it came down to it...he didn’t need to learn how to spit today. Then, as Henry watched him, a dark cunning ignited inside those deep chocolate orbs, and Henry was already prepping an eye roll before Georgie even spoke. “Because if you don’t, I’ll never leave you and Bill alone again and…I’ll tell my mom that Bill’s been sneaking a friend over.”

_ Not bad for babies first blackmail.  _ Henry sighed and rose to his feet. If any other person had tried that kind of tactic he would have rubbed their face across asphalt, but Henry wasn’t one to beat up little kids, especially when they’re the little brother of the boy saving his sorry ass from a life in Derry. If he was being entirely honest he was a bit impressed. It takes a hell of a lot of balls to try to intimidate someone twice your size and probably three times your weight. Impressed or not however, Henry still had an image of power to uphold and couldn’t let a tactic like that fully slide. As he strolled past Georgie his hand shot down the back of his shorts and yanked upwards, hard enough to lift the younger a few inches off the ground, his fist taught around the waistband of some white briefs. Georgie’s eyes popped and he emitted a soft little wheeze, crumbling to the ground when Henry released him, his hands falling around his screaming groin as the briefs lay in a defeated crumpled mass around his belt line. 

Snickering, Henry wrapped his hand around the cold copper handle and twisted it.  _ That’ll make him think twice before being a snarky little asshole.  _ “Hey Georgie where are those bott—”

The pungent aroma of stagnant dampness and decaying vegetables all but punched Henry in the face making him take a few steps back as he stared into the face of the black void in front of him. From somewhere deep within the darkness’s stomach he could hear the soft sound of water dripping and what was probably the pipes moaning within the walls. Ratta-tat-tat. All at once, as his heartbeat rattled his chest, he understood why Georgie didn’t want to come down here, why he stared at him with that desperate pleading. 

“So um,” Georgie’s voice was still a few notes higher than usual but Henry suspected, from the way his fingers delicately balled around the base of his new blue shirt and how close Georgie kept to him, it was not fully from the injury he’d taken only a few moments before, though his knees were still locked firmly together. “the recycling bin is all the way down at the bottom and against the right wall in the way back. It’s a bright green, you can’t miss it, though the lights aren’t working right now.” 

The hand that was gripping the doorknob was practically white as Henry just nodded in response, not fully hearing, his thoughts clouded with the smell of dirt and rot, his eyes desperately trying to pierce the black veil. When his mother had abandoned him to his father at ten, the nights had become especially difficult. There was no more soft hand to gently brush his forehead after a nightmare, or arms to go running to when shadows looked more human than they should, or bosom to bury his face in when he was certain there was something watching him from the window. Without her he was left to just lay there on his mold-infested mattress, staring into the inky blackness as bugs crawled across his legs, or perhaps they were little hands just waiting for him to close his eyes so they could grip him and drag him across the floor never to be seen again. But he couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t cry. Because woe be to the little boy who awakens hungover Butch Bowers from his beauty sleep. So he’d just lay there in silent rigidness, eyes wide open, waiting to die. Sometimes he had wondered if he’d see or hear his mother in the shroud of those nights. The day she ran away Butch had laid into her good. Henry remembered cowering under their dining room table as Butch shattered a bottle of booze across her face. She had taken off into the darkness with Butch in hot pursuit. When he came back the next day, covered in sweat and dirt and slightly smelling of iron, he never did say if he caught her or not, and Henry never did ask. His aversion to darkness and night had gotten so bad that he’d finally saved up his own wages from the farm and bought himself a nightlight and he’d slept with one ever since. Victor Criss was the only one who knew this and Victor Criss would take it to his grave or Henry would put him there. Now, once again as he looked down into the cellar, craving that night light, he distantly wondered if this is where he’d meet his mother again, her rotting maggot-infested hand reaching out to grab his ankle or his mullet the moment he stepped onto the first stair. Or perhaps the darkness would merely steal him just as it had her.

“Henry?” From what felt like miles away, Georgie’s voice echoed in his head. “Are you ok?”

Henry glanced down to meet Georgie’s eyes, his own wild with panic. But as he stared at the younger boy, who searched his gaze with an expression of worry, he once again took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. It was too late, he couldn’t back out now, not without resigning himself to being as chicken as a ten-year-old. Steeling his nerves as best he could and leaning through the doorway slightly, the smell of decay only intensified as his face passed the barrier of the molding. 

“Y-you said the lights aren’t working?” 

Georgie nodded. “It’s a lot brighter once you reach the bottom due to the sun shining through a few of the upper windows!”

_ Alright. So that just means you have to get past the stairs. Get past the stairs and it will all be okie-dokie again.  _ Inhaling sharply, Henry plunged into the darkness, gripping the stair railing as though it was his only tie to life. The first step groaned in protest under his weight, the old wood bending a little. Jesus, when was the last time they bothered fixing these up?

“Remember, the bins at the bottom against the right wall! You can’t-”

“Miss it. Yeah, yeah, I read ya George.” Henry took another step, forcing himself not to look back towards the light. If he did that now he might not be able to stop himself from whirling on his heels and sprinting back up to safety. And isn’t that when the monsters always got you? When you turned around to try and run? The deeper Henry went, the colder and sharper the air turned, pricking at his skin like needles as the pungent smell only further flooded his senses...though it didn’t smell like decaying damp vegetables so much anymore..but the scent was definitely familiar. Another step deeper and it only got stronger. Was that...was that sewage? 

From far away, Georgie called out his name and this time Henry did glance back, just as he was stepping down, however it was not Georgie in the doorway, but a black kid gaping at him from the opening of a well that was getting ever smaller. Henry’s foot found no connection and all at once the railing underneath his hand seemed to fall limp and give way as Henry tumbled through nothingness. His mouth opened to scream but anything that might have come out was cut short as his skull collided with a rock, sending his body cartwheeling through the air and slamming back and forth against the jagged edges of the well like a human pinball. Each collision tore a new bloody hole into his skin and just when Henry thought he’d catch his breath it was knocked out of him again. Down down down he goes, where he’ll end up nobody knows.  _ This is the throat of hell and when I reach the bottom I’ll be in a stomach of flame-  _ icy water engulfed Henry, swallowing him in a writhing current as his senses were flooded with the stench of piss and shit. Every second was a struggle, his consciousness constantly threatening to abandon on him as he desperately reached for the surface. Just as he was about to breach what felt like hands wrapped around his ankles and yanked him back just below the surface, his entire body screaming in frustration.  _ Mom? _ This is where he was going to die, struggling just a few inches underneath salvation staring up at the rocky ceiling of the sewers. As he kicked and flailed at a creature he couldn’t even see he heard the voices of thousands of children, chanting his name while gray water poured into his mouth and nose. “Henry, Henry, Henry-”

“H-Henry!” Georgie shook him hard and all at once Henry could breathe again. He rolled over on the stone floor and dry heaved, trying to rid his insides of the polluted water but despite his best efforts nothing but bile and remnants of cereal came up. “Henry are you okay?” The ten year old sounded close to tears. “I-I’m Sorry Henry I completely forgot about the missing step! Y-you’re not hurt right?”

_ God damn mother fucking nightmares. _ Henry spit out the last bit of vomit. “I’m fine.” That wasn't a complete lie. Aside from being a little sore here and there in the physical sense he was okay. However mentally he felt like his head was going to combust and he was about as livid as one of their barn cats after being stuck in the rain. Why did this shit keep happening? It was bad enough he couldn’t sleep due to nightmares and now it was seeping into his waking hours. Not wanting to continue to be at eye level with his puke, Henry pushed himself up, distantly aware that the smell of the sewage hadn’t left the room but rather had intermingled with the overbearing aroma of rot. 

Georgie smeared his arm across his nose, trying to stop the developing snot from leaking out in too embarrassing a fashion. “W-we don’t have to do the bottles any more Henry. I’m sorry...”

“Quit apologizing. It’s not your fault your parents are lazy assholes who can’t upkeep their own house.” For emphasis but mainly because he felt like it, Henry kicked the wall, causing a minuscule avalanche of dirt to pour down from cracks around the windows. 

“Hello?” Both boys whipped their heads to stare at Bill who stood perched at the top of the steps fully dressed, the only indication that he’d been in the shower was a slight sheen to his hair. “What are you tuh-two doing?”

At the sight of Bill, Henry’s heartbeat finally began to slow. Bill was here. It was okay. “Just rolling around in your dirty cellar. I’d offer for you to join but can’t afford to wait for another hour-long shower. You get your legs all shaved princess?”

This earned a snicker from Georgie who tried to conceal it behind his hand though he received a look from Bill anyways. 

“Oh shove it Buh-Buh-Bowers. At least one of us is hygienic. Buh-but I was th-th-thinking about heading to school early. You wanna k-k-come? No one should buh-be out right now.” 

“Why, I thought you’d never ask Denbrough.” Henry brushed himself off and began climbing his way to the light, Georgie following close behind, both of them making sure to give a wide girth to the hole in between steps that had been his previous downfall. As they reached the top, Henry threw a glance over his shoulder to peer one last time into the darkness and he couldn’t be certain, but he was sure he heard the sound of rushing water and faraway laughter of children.  _ Just the pipes Henry. Just the pipes.  _

After saying their goodbyes to Georgie who wouldn’t be leaving for another few hours or so, the two older boys left the house just as the sun began to fully rise over the horizon line. Bill stopped to grab his bike Silver which he promptly threw his leg over as though he was mounting a mighty steed which, to some extent, he was. Even with his growth spurt over the summer and winter breaks it was very apparent that Bill’s feet could just barely touch the ground on either side of the handle-barred death-trap. 

_ Whoa, steady girl, _ Bill cooed mentally as he smiled up at Henry. “Hop on!”

Taking his time to process this request, heat gradually began to rise in Henry’s cheeks. “I think you’re still recovering from your freak out this morning Billy, there is no way I’m riding bitch to you.” Bill shrugged and Henry noticed for the first time a small bandage wrapped tightly around Bill’s left wrist.  _ When did that happen? _

“Suit yourself. Guh-Guess I’ll just head to school without you.” 

Giving Bill a look of the displeased variation, Henry squinted at the sun, doing some mental gymnastics as he calculated time in his head. He had to go home anyway, and now that he was thinking about it his house was in the exact opposite direction of the school, however..the bus stop was right by the school, just off to the right a bit. If he walked there it would at least take him forty minutes and then an hour on the bus to get home, which meant risking the wrath of a newly awakened and disgruntled Butch, though it’d be close without walking anyways. He really shouldn’t have waited for Bill.

“Fine. But only if you can drop me off at the bus stop off of Center Street.”

“Why are you going to the buh-buh-bus stop?” 

“Not that it's any of your earwax, but I’ve got morning chores on the farm.”

Now it was Bill’s turn to stop and consider, though at least half his brain was debating as to whether it would be worth the risk to life and limb to tell Henry that the phrase was “not any of your beeswax.” The other half was trying to fathom what risks Henry would meet at home if he didn’t complete his morning chores. Sure, he’d gone through his own parental abuse the last time he lived through all this, a revelation that had taken hours of therapy to convince him of, that neglect and abandonment was indeed abuse. But his parents had never been abusers. They were just too lost in their own grief to remember that they had another son, something he couldn’t blame them for.  _ After all I led all my friends to their deaths for the sake of my mourning, what was a forgotten birthday or two. _ However, they had never ever hit him, ignoring the odd spanking or two, and Bill could never imagine them doing so. In fact, Bill couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be scared of a parent. A monster in your own home. 

“I k-k-can take you tuh-to your house if you want.” 

Henry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “My house is in the complete opposite direction dumba-”

“I knuh-know that! You can’t buh-be late right?”

“N-no but-”

“Then you shut up duh-duh-duh-dumbass and hop on!”

Henry’s jaw hung slack for a minute and possibly out of pure shock, obeyed, shifting onto the bike behind Bill and placing his hands awkwardly on his waist. Their height difference was almost comical as the much smaller Bill started pushing against the ground with his feet for momentum, a task that was much easier with the likes of Richie or Eddie. Gradually, Silvers wheels began moving on their own and picking up speed and in one swift expertly executed movement, Bill lifted his feet to the pedals and began pumping. 

“High Yo Silver AWAY!” he laughed out as the bike’s nose dipped over the edge of an incline and they were shot downward, the wind suddenly tearing against their faces. 

If I wasn’t about to die I’d break his arm for being such a dork, was Henry’s sole thought as he let out a small yelp and immediately pressed against Bill, his hands no longer placed lackadaisically at Bill's sides but coiled around him like netting. 

Every bump Silver hit felt like a ship being rolled to the side by a mighty wave, but Bill was a masterful captain, always steadying her and keeping her surging ever forward. It was easy to get lost in the acceleration, the world just shooting by around them as if they were the only things still moving. There were a few times that Henry closed his eyes and was certain they were soaring with Bill’s pattering heartbeat and the sound of the rushing wind enveloping him, though his grip never lessened. Together, on Bill’s bike, they surpassed time itself, leaving her in the dust of Derry’s old paved roads shaking her fist at them. Eventually, the pretty little houses and cemented streets melted into dirt driveways with thick shrubbery on either side, only occasionally cleared to make room for some pastures with the odd cow that would lazily raise its head and watch, the reflection of two boys on a bike that was too big for them passing over its black glass-like eyes. 

“So where’s your house buh-Bowers?” Bill called back over his shoulder, rousing Henry who had been somewhat nodding off against his back for the past ten minutes or so. 

“Hm?” he sat up slightly and glanced around. They were moving at a much easier pace now and he felt confident enough to unfurl from the other, his hands returned to Bill’s waist. “Oh uh...it’s just up ahead, next house on the right.” 

Nodding, Bill continued to pedal until slowly easing Silver to a stop in front of a gravel driveway with a police car parked in the front. The Bowers’ “House” was more like a glorified shack that looked like a small gust of wind could send it toppling. The wood it was constructed of was practically gray from sun bleaching and was riddled with holes and vines inching their way up and the porch appeared like it’d cave in under the smallest amount of weight. It occurred to Bill then that he should invite Henry to more sleepovers. If this was what the outside was like he didn’t even want to consider the inside. 

“Alright well uh, this is me.” Henry stepped off the bike, his eyes firmly locked on his shoes as he began walking towards the house.  _ Nothing like your mansion, huh Bill? _ It was time to start praying. 

“Hey Henry!” 

Henry glanced over his shoulder to see Bill leaning over the handlebars watching him, an expression that Henry couldn’t quite decipher on his face. 

“I’ll see you at school okay?”

“Okay.” Not exactly sure why his chest was aching, Henry gave him a slight wave as Bill turned and launched back down the road they had just came from. He awaited the mighty declaration of “High Yo Silver” but it never came, just the soft sound of gears turning on a lonely dirt road. 

The worn wood door creaked open, brushing away a few empty beer cans that lay strewn in its path, its rusty hinges announcing Henry’s return as he slid inside the cold dark house. It was deathly quiet and with a quick glance to the clock Henry could see why. 6 am on the dot! A grin unfurled across his face. Bill had gotten him here in record time. Butch wouldn’t be up for another hour and Henry had more than enough time to do his chores and head to school-

Behind him a light clicked on making Henry go rigid. Immediately, any remnants of his breakfast that weren’t already on the Denbrough’s cellar floor were threatening to come up as his stomach tightened and his right hand started shaking. Butch Bowers, still dressed in his police uniform, was sitting in his lazy boy, his legs spread as he polished a large hunting rifle on his lap, the initials _ R. Bowers _ carved into the stock. He was very much awake and possibly worse...very much sober. 

“Where you been boy?” 


End file.
